I should’ve made dinner shirtless. Now my only “nice” shirt has some serious pit stains and is splattered with marinara to boot.
Claudia is going to be here soon. Why am I nervous? Maybe I love her. Shit.
As I’m slicing the bread, I slip and cut my finger.
“Son of a bitch!”
Now there’s blood.
I hear a scratching coming from the bedroom.
The dog’s awake, great.
I head in to the bedroom, and scoop up the little furball. His tail is wagging like crazy as he tries to lick my bloody finger. I’ve only had him a day and he is a pain in my ass.
Thankfully after tonight he will belong to Claudia.
I toss the puppy onto the bed and dig in the laundry for something to wear.
I’m spraying myself with Febreeze as the doorbell rings.
“Umm, hang on” I yell.
“Umm, hurry up!”
No time for a band-aid, I tuck the puppy like a football and fumble with my buttons on my way to the door.
I fling the door open, panting.
“Happy Birthday baby!” I say, holding out the squirming dog to her.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

View this story's 1 comments.