Is it odd that I recreationally go to the pet store to look at puppies?  And when I say "recreationally," I mean I've been FOUR TIMES IN THE PAST TWO WEEKS.  Meanwhile, I drag helpless victims in with me.  Today's was Dad.  And I swear to you, when I was done with him, the man had nearly stuffed an entire Australian Shepherd Dog puppy into his pocket.  Whole.

Needless to say, I think the time is looming when I should just break down and get a dog.

Speaking of breaking, Shawn has definitely been walking around on a BROKEN ANKLE for the past THREE WEEKS.  Poor baby.  He showed up at my house wielding crutches and sporting a knee-high black walking cast, and I couldn't help but say aloud, "You POOOOOOR thing!" in that high, rather nauseating voice we all know and love.  I don't think he appreciated that so much, but I'm all, "If I can't have something small and furry and lickably delicious to croon at, I damn well right am going to croon at you!"