Milo Times

I love my husband.

And this isn’t even going to be followed by a BUT…

I just really, really love that dude.

I woke up this morning ready to punch babies. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because it was a gray, drizzly morning, or maybe it’s because I had to face yet another day of soul-sucking desk work, or maybe it’s because Milo was stretched out across the bed snoring and I was pushed to the edge of the mattress with a square of blanket that barely covered my shoulder and two paws in my back.

That dog can take up more space than you would believe

So after I hit snooze for the eleventh time and shoved Milo off of me (much to his protest) and sit up and realized that I don’t have a thing to wear to work today, I'm already fixing to become an alcoholic. I was just about ready to crawl back in bed, when I realized that Milo had taken the brief opportunity to curl up on the warm spot I left when I sat up. Shit outta luck.

So yeah.
Cold dreary morning + having to go to work + dog paws crushing spine = irrepressible desire to punch myself in the face repeatedly until I knock myself out.

But instead, I got dressed in a kind of ugly sweater (with a hole in the armpit) and a pair of pants that kind of don’t fit as great as they used to since I got a life and stopped going to the gym 6 days a week.

So for those of you who are just joining us, here’s this morning’s equation:

IF…
Cold dreary morning + having to go to work + dog paws crushing spine = irrepressible desire to punch myself in the face repeatedly until I knock myself out.

THEN…
Cold dreary morning + having to go to work + dog paws crushing spine +ugly top + pants that are a bit too tight = X

Now, I’m no mathematician (clearly), but I’m assuming that X probably equals “would rather dip myself in honey and play volleyball with a bees’ nest than continue forward with this day”

So I, in my ugly, holey sweater and pants that dig into my tummy, drag Milo and Jericho out of the bedroom so they can go out and use the bathroom.

What I think is going to happen: Milo and Jericho walk onto the lawn, poop and pee, and come skipping back into the house.

What actually happens: Milo takes off like a bat out of hell trying to chase squirrels while Jericho pees on my euonymous bush and takes a dump in the middle of the driveway. Milo attacks Jericho mid-dump and they start running around like crazy on my driveway, getting dangerously close to the busy road in front of my house. I scream at them both and start chasing them down until they both make a mad dash for the front door. I finally catch up with them to let them in. I open the door and Jericho goes in, but Milo runs off with that “have to poop” face. 5 minutes later he’s still pushing out the latest toy that he’s ingested and I’m going be officially late for work.

Fantastic.

Once everybody is inside and accounted for (except for that one toy, which is lying in a pile of shit in the yard), I stomp to the bathroom to finish getting ready for work.

*Stomp Stomp Stomp (mutter grrrrr “fucking dogs” grumble)

And then…
There is a card.
Resting against the mirror, with my name on the front of it.

And suddenly, a sunbeam shoots through the clouds…

My honey left me a card this morning.
For NO REASON WHATSOEVER other than to remind me that he loves me.

SWOON

And the best part? Was what he wrote on the inside…

Something along the lines of "I love you and I’m so happy to be married to you…blah blah blah." But the best line was this:

I will always be there for you through the good time and the bad times. Also, the Milo times.

Did ya catch that last part?

…the Milo times

LOL!

Dude, I have the best freaking husband in the world…
Not to mention a dog who has redefined the definition of a bad time.

So I guess you could say that I was having a "Milo time" this morning. Until I read that card.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love my husband.