HOLY SHIT WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE
At about 8.30 the fireworks started, and so did Charlie - he stood in the hallway barking, then scooted backwards down the hall, still barking, into my room, onto my bed, and made himself the smallest dog possible. That was ok, but then he spent the next two hours barking, whining, jumping, wagging his tail, and backing his big dog butt into my face. Every so often he'd get brave and run out into the hall again, only to reappear seconds later, shaking and barking and wagging and whining and jumping. Man, I love having a dog.
Anyway, Happy Birthday Dad! I am celebrating your birthday by not wearing shoes at work. I knew you'd approve.
Tomorrow I am going to a wedding. Why on earth would people choose to roar out their love to all and sundry by making their friends sit on hard benches and be quiet for an hour? Weddings confuse me. Also, why are children allowed, and what do you mean I have to behave appropriately and not drink to excess? What do you mean this day is about the happy couple, not about me? Weddings are bollocks. I shall let you know how it goes.