I used to think that I was absolutely and un-apologetically a dog person. I'm not so sure any more. I like them in theory, but the one in our house at least is not my favorite creature on earth. I'm not sure I'm a cat person either. They are aloof and prickly independent, and I can respect that about them, but I once read this news story about a woman who owned a lot of cats. She died in the bathtub in her apartment, and after a few days, the cats ate her. I suppose we should just be thankful that they waited until after she was dead. I don't know what's worse, that her pets ate her or that she was dead a few days before anyone missed her. How can no one have noticed that she wasn't around? That could never happen in this house. I had to lock myself in the bathroom just to write this blog post. The children are still looking for me I'm sure. I'll be found soon enough. It's like a giant game of hide and seek. The good kind where the hiding place isn't completely obvious. Or better yet like a game of sardines. Have you ever played sardines? Where one person hides and the seekers have to cram themselves into the hiding place when they find the "it" person? No? Hmmmm. Maybe it's a regional thing like bar-b-que. I didn't even know bar-b-que was regional until the food network told me so a few years ago. How different can it be to grill meat in Illinois than in Texas? A lot it seems. The Texas way is vastly superior, of course. I don't even have to taste it to know that. You just have to listen to them talk. There's something about that Texas twang that lets you know the man can cook. It inspires confidence in the food.
I've decided. It's definitely worse to be eaten.
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