All this sniffing

After 20 days of not washing clothes, I finally headed down to the basement of the apartment complex yesterday. The one washer and one dryer sat staring at me, each begging for $1.50. Not since my college days have I needed so many quarters at one time. And not since my college days have I worn clothes more than two or three times without cleaning them. When I was picking T-shirts and shorts from the dirty clothes basket and sniffing them to see how much stink was too much stink, I had no hesitations or reservations about being a repeat offender. Thank goodness, though, that I went to Target before I left Atlanta. That $60 worth of new underwear came in handy, for I only had to sniff underwear for four days. Yet, I realized that four days was too many days when your selection criteria for which pair you should wear again was based on the degree of butt taint involved. I always chose the pair with zero degree of taint, but I squirted them with Febreeze, Hawaiian Aloha scent, just in case.

The sniffing continues, too, for Phoebe. I think she has developed a touch of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I know it's normal for animals to check out scents of new territories, but it has been two weeks. She prances around with her head lifted in the air and her top lip in an Elvis curl. Showing my own OCD behavior, I keep picking her up to make sure that she doesn't have another rodent ulcer, a form of the Herpes virus that shows up in cats. In the past when Phoebe's top lip was protruding, which made her have the same look as a friend of mine had when she used to have too much vodka and was turning into a mean drunk that was getting ready to rip someone a new ass, a rodent ulcer was the culprit. Thus far, that hasn't been the case here. So, I can only assume that it must be the unfamiliar aromas that flow through the open windows. Of course, it may have been my dirty laundry, too. We'll see if Phoebe's sniffing continues now that I have washed garments.

My Shug is a cougar! Nearing 12, 84 in human years, she's still spry and feisty. She's quite cranky at times, too, but her aggression is saved for other dogs and sometimes for strange children. Last night was a night to remember for Shug. On our evening walk, she met Stanley, the pit bull who lives three blocks down. Despite my efforts to keep Shug away from Stanley, fate was too strong. Dragging his owner down the street, Stanley rushed over to us. Instead of growling and snarling, Shug started wagging her tail and smiling. Then the sniffing began. She couldn't get enough of Stanley's private parts. In an attempt to draw attention away from Shug's scandalous behavior, I asked about Stanley's age. "He's almost two," the bearded, outdoorsy guy answered. "He's beautiful, and he's very muscular," I said. "Obviously, your dog thinks so, too," he said, laughing. I've never witnessed two dogs as happy as Shug and Stanley. Pawing and sniffing for what seemed like two lifetimes, Shug forgot about me. "Is this legal?" I jokingly asked Stanley's owner whose name I didn't get because I was in shock over Shug's lascivious behavior. "Stanley's a minor. Not even 14, and Shug's 70 years older than him," I added. Stanley's owner smiled. "Whatever works for him works for me," he said. "Well, you don't have to worry about grand kids, Shug's had her egg bag removed." He smiled an unsure smile, and then he began dragging Stanley away from Shug.

All this sniffing had a purpose. Phoebe has found something more interesting than sleeping. Shug claimed Stanley as her man. And I now have clean underwear, in case I get in an accident, or in case someone decides to claim me as their man.