Recently, I found yet another puddle in my house.
Yes, Lil' Frankfurter decided yet again that peeing in the middle of the living room was a great option. In fact, it was a much better option than nosing the bell hung on the back door, alerting me he needed to go outside. To go potty. Because, as My Guy and I remind the dogs several times daily, "WE GO POTTY OUTSIDE."
It's like we have a cult, except instead of talking about Hale Bop or drinking Kool-Aid, we're all, "WE GO POTTY OUTSIDE."
Right. Except sometimes Lil' Frank just can't be bothered.
So, the other day, I found yet another fucking puddle. And although I'm usually just Mommy Dearest and yell something really useful like, "Shameful! Shameful!?" Well, this time? The spirit just got into me and I went off.
"WE GO POTTY OUTSIDE," I said to a non-plussed Lil' Frank. "What are you doin', peeing in MY HOUSE? This is MY HOUSE, and I just let you live here."
Then, it got weird.
"You ain't got no J-O-B. You ain't got no JOB! Git yo'self a jobby job and earn your keep!"
I just might be watching too many reruns of "Martin."
So you slip into various regional and ethnic accents while doling out lectures? I get all British on my kids when they're naughty--I saw some show with a nanny who does that very effectively...
ReplyDeleteto which he thought bullsh*t my job is peeing in your house. I thought I was doing a great job!
ReplyDeleteoh, little sweetie...you wouldn't want the poor creature to develop a complex and need therapy, now would you? ;)
ReplyDeleteHey, at least you have a dog to talk to. I'm turning into the weird old lady who talks to her plants and the thread stuck to her sweater. In accents.
ReplyDeleteAnd who cackles way too long at references to Hale Bop.