It's Exhausting. We're never getting back together. Like, ever.

I need to return my glue-gun.

It seems that instead of heating up glue sticks so that I can create amazing things out of toothpicks and twine, all the glue-gun has done is left little pearls of glue stuck to our couch in a nice line between where I was sitting and our table in front of me. Oh, did I mention the game of Connect The Dots that was created by the spider webs of melty glue? It looks like a giant spider was used as an air-hockey puck between my knees and the table. Oh joy.

Fortunately, Husband continues to be more enamoured with my crafting abilities with every passing day. Wait. Oh, wait, uh, no.   

Worst part: it's so clearly obvious that I did that damage that I can't even come up with a way to blame the dog.

Rizzo, our Jack Russell Terrier, got herself a long, blonde curly wig and has been trotting around the house singing, 

"You. Are never, ever, ever, blaming that on meee! 

You-oo. Are never, ever, ever blaming that on meee. 

You try convince Husband, convince Kiddos 1 and 2, 

but You-oo are never, ever, ever, ever ... blaming that on meee."  

Like, ever.

I mean, the freakin' dog doesn't even have thumbs to work the glue gun; whose idea was it to NOT get a gleeful chimpanzee all those years ago when we opted for dogs?  Obviously my unstable crafting future did not come into play when we were at the dog shelter. 

Next time it will. Oh, yes. Next time it will.

See, we started this new "Plant-strong, whole-foods" diet, which is code for Vegan, but sounds less crazy and less extreme. If you have never given up meat or dairy at any point in your life, I tell you-- take this month and give it a try. Who gives a shit about all the obvious health benefits-- I'm telling you that the minute you start eating foods you've (likely) never had to eat before, you become a real, serious machine gun of gas.

When governments cut back army funding, they secretly change their
soldiers' diets to Vegan thus simulating the sound of assault weapons;
it tricks the other side into surrender every time. 

Machine gun. 

Of gas.

There's no such thing as a subtle vegan. In fact, I guess that's why they've kept the kinda-scary name. Nothing about being vegan is discreet or quiet, least of all the farts. 

Remember when you were 8 and fart jokes were HI-larious and you'd giggle hysterically when someone would say "Pull my finger?"  Remember how you took all that time to classify and sort all the different types of farts that exist? The S.B.D. (silent but deadly), the pfffffft (that just kinda sounds like some wind slipping through a crack in an open window, the full-frontal (which defies gravity and comes out ... well you get it)... so many names, so many varieties, so so so many laughs.

Let me tell you, if you've left your heart in grade 3, the Whole-foods, plant-based diet is right up your (stinky) alley. Sure, the toots abate after two weeks, but you'll probably die laughing long before then. 

Or asphyxiate. 

See, Rizzo is thrilled with the glue-gun incident because, possibly for the first time in our life together, I have to take responsibility for something and not blamed her.

Friends visit and leave covered in dog hair? Rizzo! (that's mostly her anyway, but if I were a good dog-mom I would get her groomed or at least vacuum her to avoid that problem)

Can't find my keys? Rizzo took them.

Visiting friends gagging at the S.B.D.? Dang it, Rizzo! Outside! 

Just farted and sounded like end of a fireworks show? Rizzo! Naughty girl! 

It's not like I don't reward Rizzo for taking the blame; she gets those no-gluten, homemade dog treats that cost more than an entire bag of dog food. She and I go for walks and she has been allowed to chase and kill two bunnies in our backyard this year, as well as jump into the pond whenever she feels like it. It's a sweet life (except for the part where she sleeps under our covers and went deaf from the Rice Krispies farts <--- those toots that go "snap, crackle, pop.")

Maybe I can make a voodoo-style dog out of the glue gun strings and dots? Every time the lentils venture forth into the atmosphere, I can push on the tummy of my voodoo-glue dog and Rizzo will know to grin sheepishly while whispering "Oh excuse me! How terribly embarrassing! Good heavens!"  

But this time, I'm telling you, I'm telling you ... I need a new glue gun.