I fondled my dog yesterday.
And I liked it.
Until I realized what exactly I was doing. And then I was all, "ACK!! OH MY GOD!! What am I doing?!" Because, really, who does that, even willingly?
You see, I was sitting on our couch, beside Mr. Handsome, enjoying a so-so cup of coffee and Mr. Handsome's company while we discussed the probability of Dee having to go in for yet another surgical procedure in the fall. We had just come back home from his follow-up appointment with the surgeon, and it looks like he may have to go under the knife again. More on that another time. I'm just happy because it doesn't seem to be tumour-related, and that's all I care about.
Anyway, the coffee was not strong enough, and we had run out of milk, so I was not happy. And, while Mr. Handsome and I were talking, I was absentmindedly fiddling with what I thought was a very warm and fuzzy flap of doggy skin on Gryphon's abdomen. Gryphon had sidled up to me and was leaning across my lap, his head upside down, and now we know why he was smiling.
The more I think about it, the sicker I feel in the very pit of my stomach.
It brings back memories of my shock when I heard the rumour that Barry Manilow was "doing it" with his two dogs (I think they were Afghan hounds, of all things). First of all, I couldn't understand why he would want to, and second of all, how.
Speaking of Barry Manilow, is it just me, or do you all notice how he's become almost waxlike in appearance, and skinnier than any man should be? He was never my idea of a handsome man, but I admit I liked his music, and would often find myself singing "Copacabana" in the shower. Admit it, you've done it too.
However, the last few times I've seen Barry on television, he scares me, almost as much as Michael Jackson scares me. And that's a lot.
This is what Manilow used to look like compared to what he looks like now:
Notice a difference? Just a tad, no? I'm thinking the guy's face has been cryogenically sealed, buffed and shined, and is now not even genetically his. Maybe it's just a masklike contraption strapped onto his old mug with some duct tape and rope, ingeniously hidden, because I know when he sings, the only thing moving is his mouth. It's spooky, almost nightmarish to watch. Nothing else moves. Not even his huge cheekbones, which could feed a small African country.
Hey! Wait a minute! Is it just me, or has there been an amazing transformation, and Barry Manilow now greatly resembles this?
I'm pretty sure I'm not imagining things here, Internet. He would just need to grow out the hair a bit.