I should be in bed by now, dreaming of vacations, meritocracies, and calorie-free croissants. But, no. It’s 3:01am. Do you know where your dog is? I know where mine is and how much it cost me.
Where: Emergency vet.
How much: $1200 bucks
Why: Because the universe is making sure I appreciate the vacation I’m about to take.
Forewarned — I may be calling on one or two of you to coordinate a dog transfer from the emergency room to the vet tomorrow. Hail didn’t stop me. A raging case of giardia made things gross around the apartment for a while, but that’s not going to stop me either.
If there are those among you who ever wondered how much you mean to me, you’ll find out how much tomorrow if, because I’ve listed you as an emergency contact, you get a call from Dr. Morse to come get my dog and take him to his regular vet. My credit card is on file. And now, I’m broke again. It’s like a sitcom around this place. What do you want to bet I forget my passport and lose my wallet tomorrow?