Garments
“There’s no end of things to do,” Mama Dog just sighed, as Baby settled into a meal and I sealed up the torn side of the Gymini’s bag with duct tape. “Yeah,” I said. “You know why? ‘Cause even if you throw away everything else, there’s always going to be more laundry.” “And dishes,” she said. “And garbage.” Ah, yes. The perennials.
Right now I’m at end-of-laundry-cycle plus one day. The determining element is t-shirts, as I have more plentiful supplies of socks and underwear. Today was kind of a free day because we had our family portrait taken and I was wearing a little-use grey mock turtle for that, and I never bothered to change out of it. I had planned on doing laundry, but never got around to it mainly because, if you’ll believe this, it was raining too hard. The machines are in the basement, and there’s no interior access. I would have had to go out the back door, down the stairs, and around to the rear entrance to make it to the laundry room. I don’t mind getting wet myself, but think of the clothes! Who knows what damage they could sustain getting wet before going into the laundry?
Okay, maybe I’m making excuses.
I’m not a big fan of clothes, by and large. I suppose they’re important for shelter from the elements and all, but they strike me as rather a necessary evil, like eating or going outside. I look at the dog sometimes – perfectly suited for any weather, thickly coated in winter, shedding down to a lighter load in summer. I think: why did we – humans, like – lose our fur? As near as I can figure it, the main evolutionary advantage to shedding our fur accrues to washing machine manufacturers and the fashion industry. Given that we went furless a couple million years ago, it seems kind of a leap of faith on the part of natural selection that it would eventually pay off economically.
In other frontiers of strange hominid behaviour: I know this will make Mama Dog’s eyes glaze over, but I have to make a comment about some of the weirdoes who’ve been looking at this page. For some reason, the number of hits I get through search engines has been increasing, and a lot of the searches seem to be curious about the things their wives or other women might be willing to do with dogs. I see why the search engine is suggesting my page – I am Papa Dog, after all – but why do these mouth-breathers bother clicking on me when the excerpt that shows up on the search page clearly has no relation to bestiality? Particularly galling – because I talked about the late, lamented Movie Pitchers a few posts back, I’ve been getting hits from people looking for “pitchers” of dogs fucking women and what have you. So I’m getting the select crop of not just pervs but illiterate pervs. Avert your gaze while I try to contain my pride.
Right now I’m at end-of-laundry-cycle plus one day. The determining element is t-shirts, as I have more plentiful supplies of socks and underwear. Today was kind of a free day because we had our family portrait taken and I was wearing a little-use grey mock turtle for that, and I never bothered to change out of it. I had planned on doing laundry, but never got around to it mainly because, if you’ll believe this, it was raining too hard. The machines are in the basement, and there’s no interior access. I would have had to go out the back door, down the stairs, and around to the rear entrance to make it to the laundry room. I don’t mind getting wet myself, but think of the clothes! Who knows what damage they could sustain getting wet before going into the laundry?
Okay, maybe I’m making excuses.
I’m not a big fan of clothes, by and large. I suppose they’re important for shelter from the elements and all, but they strike me as rather a necessary evil, like eating or going outside. I look at the dog sometimes – perfectly suited for any weather, thickly coated in winter, shedding down to a lighter load in summer. I think: why did we – humans, like – lose our fur? As near as I can figure it, the main evolutionary advantage to shedding our fur accrues to washing machine manufacturers and the fashion industry. Given that we went furless a couple million years ago, it seems kind of a leap of faith on the part of natural selection that it would eventually pay off economically.
In other frontiers of strange hominid behaviour: I know this will make Mama Dog’s eyes glaze over, but I have to make a comment about some of the weirdoes who’ve been looking at this page. For some reason, the number of hits I get through search engines has been increasing, and a lot of the searches seem to be curious about the things their wives or other women might be willing to do with dogs. I see why the search engine is suggesting my page – I am Papa Dog, after all – but why do these mouth-breathers bother clicking on me when the excerpt that shows up on the search page clearly has no relation to bestiality? Particularly galling – because I talked about the late, lamented Movie Pitchers a few posts back, I’ve been getting hits from people looking for “pitchers” of dogs fucking women and what have you. So I’m getting the select crop of not just pervs but illiterate pervs. Avert your gaze while I try to contain my pride.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 8:19 PM
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