We spent last weekend in Chicago, The Windy City. Although there are many stories as to why Chicago is called the windy city, one being the long wind coming out of politicians mouths, not their arses, it always makes me think of farts. Because, face it, farting is funny.
In order to travel out of town, I must procure care and hospitality for our various animals. The dog always goes to the same kennel. One that boasts long daily walks, a 2-acre fenced-in dog park, and even a peaceful zen garden for the little dogs. That’s right… a ‘zen garden’ for dogs. My dog isn’t very manly, maybe a little hippyish, so he loves getting all zen in the garden. Aussie on the other hand had to stay with the wack-a-doodle Dr. Doolittle and his band of zealot minions. Aussie is still trying to overcome his Megabacteria infection and needs daily medication. I think he’s just being dramatic and wants to take all the attention away from the dog. Manipulative little shit; He fits right into this family!! Poor Crookshanks, the guinea pig, she just gets an extra bowl of food, extra water bottle, and carries on her anti-social existence without us for a couple of days.
Chicago is a lovely city. We stayed right by Water Tower Plaza and were able to walk to various locations, take a short cab ride to Navy Pier, and even enjoy a horse-drawn carriage ride around the area. It is so much different than downtown St. Louis. On Saturday we decided to divide and conquer. The Voice of Reason took the Boy Child to see the Cubs play, because something went wrong with the breeding of that one and he came out a Cubs fan. I think it was Voo-Doo and I have my suspicions as to who sold their soul for that to happen, but I won’t name his Godmother specificially because her line of work involves handguns and I value my guts being on the inside. I then took the Girl Child to The American Girl Store. That is a cash cow my friends. I wish I had come up with that concept, I’d be typing this from a very different house and instead of a bird on my shoulder as I type, I’d have Svec, the masseur, on my shoulder. There are more than a million ways for moms of girls to spend money in that store: dolls, doll clothes, doll pets, doll hair brushes, doll glasses, doll rollerskates, doll nunchucks… just kidding on that one, but it would be so cool! Then after buying a doll and doll stuff there was tea. It was a cute tea. And a yummy tea. But you pay for it, and then your sweet darling daughter wants the souvenir tea cup, and doll chair, and dessert cups… this could go on for hours, and it did! But secretly I loved it. I love being a girl mom and I would have fallen for this gimmick hook, line, and sinker as a child. All I had to obsess about were the troll-faced Cabbage Patch Kid dolls with freaky names that people were taking out knee-caps over in stores in the 1980’s. At least this is a step up from those days. Or maybe not, I specifically remember that my own CPK, Monique, had her own wardrobe and a car seat. Come to think of it, back then we had to actually “adopt” our CPK’s and take an oath to love and protect them. All you do is ‘buy’ your American Girl. Family values really have gotten lost.
Back at Wrigley Field the Cubs won and a very excited Boy Child made memories worth millions. Successful weekend all around.
We are back home with our very happy, but stinky, pets. As Erika put it best about Louie’s post-kennel smell, “He smells like a butt!” Seeing as this all started with talking about farting, it seems that I should end on the butt note and go bathe his little furry one!