Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I have a leather sofa. The bad news is that my dog, Honey, just puked on it. First of all, she isn't even allowed on the furniture (a rule invented to avoid just exactly this kind of catastrophe). Second of all, she puked between the seats instead of on a cushion like a good girl. So of course this means that the day that I clean out under the sofa cushions is, in fact, today (instead of "one of these days"). It was yellow and foamy with speckles in a variety of sizes and colors. I found myself talking to her as I was cleaning, "Really? Honey? You threw up, huh? Gee...that's too bad. What do you suppose caused this? Could it have been when you ate the fecal matter of another dog in our front yard this morning? Do you remember that I told you specifically NOT to eat that? Or maybe it was the Barbie doll you harfed down last night as my six year old daughter chased you, screaming and crying. OH! I know...it...
Like sex, but with a B.