Busted

This morning I woke up feeling a little puny. I think it’s a combination of jetlag, a messed up sleep schedule and constant climate changes. Nothing major, just one of those I-feel-like-asshole mornings.

At the crack of dawn I was sitting on the stool in my bathroom trying to apply come makeup to cover my rapidly aging face. The Husband was still lying down -- trying to ignore my ranting at raving penetrating his ears and the bathroom light flooding his eyes.

I looked in the mirror and I saw someone I didn't recognize. Someone who looked like she'd been run over by speeding bus, left for dead then found a week later in a homeless shelter with no memory. It was the kind of moment that makes you realize that you aren't the girl you once were. My reflection was that of someone with a job, mortgage and more chins that the Chinese phone book.

As I set, staring at myself, wondering if perhaps I should invest in some very expensive "rejuvenating" face cream, a felt a warm, fuzzy face slip onto my lap. When I looked down, I saw my Ripken nestling his head against my upper thigh and belly. It was as if he was saying, "I am the one person who thinks you look great… even if you have let yourself go."

I leaned over, took his face in my hands and kissed his fuzzy little face. He responded by rubbing face against mine in a sort of puppy dog/Eskimo kiss. Then he half climbed into my lap and snuggled under my neck. I couldn't help but think what a sweet dog this 70-pounder had become.

We stayed like that for a few moments in that half hug.

Then the Aggie woke up and uttered four damned words: "Who wants a treat!"

The spell was broken. Ripken was no longer my sweet baby, perched gently in the nape of neck. No, he had morphed into 70 pounds of uncontrollable excitement. Immediately, he began thrashing around as if to indicate he couldn't get away from my grasp fast enough. Before I could push him down from my lap, a dramatic head bob resulted in a direct impact with my mouth and the back of his rather large head.

A second later he was gone from the bathroom and I sat before the mirror watching blood pool in my mouth. It was one of those moments when you actually see the carnage before you feel the pain. When my synapse finally did catch up with my eyes, all I could think was: OH SHIT MY FRONT TEETH ARE GOING TO FALL OUT.

Followed by: SON OF A BITCH, WE JUST FINISHED PAYING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS FOR ALL THAT BEAUTIFUL RECONSTRUCTIVE DENTAL WORK.

Followed by: WAIT. MY TEETH ARE STILL THERE... THEY'RE NOT EVEN LOOSE.

Followed by: OH THANK GOD IT IS ONLY MY LIP. WHEW.

At which point, Ripken returned to the bathroom with his treat in mouth and looked at me as if to say, "Yeah, sorry about that, lady. Got a little excited back there. Suck it up, you'll be okay. It's not like I STABBED YOU. TWICE."

And with that I continued in my efforts to make myself presentable, including added attention to toning down my Rocky Balboa upper lip.