I’m puppy-sitting for a friend this morning so I’m writing this on her laptop. The puppy in question, a black fur ball named Klaus, has fallen asleep on my lap, his head balancing on my right arm. Typing is difficult but if you think I’m moving, you’re crazy. I now understand why people procure small dogs although at the same time I’m glad I don’t have one. I’d just cuddle the poor thing in my arms like a baby all day. And then I’d actually want a baby.
I’m glad my dog weighs fifty pounds and has no desire to crawl on my lap whatsoever, instead choosing to sleep under my desk.
In other news, the sun is out in Chicago this morning and it’s actually a decent temperature out. Martha Stewart is droning on in the background, wrapping up her hour, and my laundry is spinning in the kitchen (a trade off for puppy-sitting this week is that I actually get to do about four loads of desperately-needed laundry, no quarters necessary. Thanks friends!).
Week Two of the South Beach Diet is moving along. I can’t believe it’s already Wednesday. I can’t believe people actually choose turkey burgers over real burgers. I’m now sorry I bought three kinds of spinach at the supermarket this week (baby, frozen, fresh) but I am feeling iron-tastic. I’m excited to break in Week Three (The Re-Introduction of Fruit and Bread) on Easter Sunday. I’m not saying I miss bread exactly but I do miss variety. I couldn’t bring myself to make yet another omelet this morning. It might be time for the Desperate Frittata.
That’s enough rambling on for me. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go hit Refresh on Scented Glossy Magazine’s page until the recap for last night’s Real Housewives of New York is up.