Have a migraine. Take an Advil PM. As this wonder drug kicks in, realize that Lil’ Frankfurter has peed on the bed. For a split second, consider just ignoring it. But, instead, gather what bleary-eyed strength you can manage and strip the blankets off the bed. Kneel next to the bathtub, handwashing the quilt your mom made you while Lil’ Frank blissfully looks on. Grab a back-up blanket out of the linen closet and collapse into bed. Dream that you are competing in the Miss America pageant on a platform of “I heard Gladys Knight was going to perform, so I’m just going to keep talking so I can stay on stage and meet her.” Oversleep.
Have a migraine. Take an Advil PM. Pass out blissfully. Wake up at 2:52 a.m. to Lil’ Frank licking the bed maniacally. Shift a bit and realize your foot is in something wet. Turn on the light and realize that Foxie Doxie has barfed on the bed. Consider just ignoring it. Then realize that the vomit is in two spots on the bed. Realize, too, that your brain is seriously not awake. Get up anyway. Begin to strip the bed and discover that Foxie threw up a little at your foot and a whole lot down the side of the bed – hitting every bit of bedding – sheets, blanket, mattress pad, dust ruffle, and – oh yes – pillow. Throw the mattress pad in the wash and begin rinsing the chunks off your very favorite set of sheets. Realize that you’ll be going to Target to buy a new pillow and Foxie Doxie’s collection of pillows that have his name written on them in Sharpie now numbers five. Be annoyed but very drugged up.
Wait for the wash to finish. Be surprised when you realize you’re hungry. Eat a bowl of Cheerios while watching Reno: 911. Throw the mattress pad in the dryer and the sheets and dust ruffle in the wash. Kennel Foxie. Grab your one non-barfy pillow and sleep on the couch with Lil’ Frank. Dream about having to recreate some kid’s paper mache 4-H project because Foxie barfed on it.
Wake to Lil’ Frank licking your armpit. Realize you’re on the couch and your back hurts. Let dogs out and feed them a teensy bit of kibble. Retreat to the couch and sleep a bit more. Wake up when you realize Foxie is on the couch, hurling chunks in between the couch cushions and down the front of the couch. Grab Lil’ Frank by the neck in a fit of rage as he attempts to eat the vomit. Spend half an hour cleaning the couch and realize you should never buy a new couch. Discover a cache of anti-nausea drugs from the last time Foxie was barfy and take two attempts to get him to eat it. Feel sort of sorry for him, even though you know his delicate doxie system is upset because he ate rabbit droppings in the first place.
Consider drinking before 9 a.m. Continue living the dream.