Mornings at Shani's Benevolent Bed and Breakfast

My dog is wonderful. I give him that. Yes, Sir Reginald is a very good puppyboy. He's quite obedient, and barks at intruders.  


However, Reggie really likes to vomit. All over the place. It's disgusting. When I come downstairs in the morning and it's all dark, there's no way I can see that pool of bile resting just beyond the final stair. 


Since bile doesn't really have a mouth, I can't hear it saying "OH HO HO YOU'RE ABOUT TO STEP IN IT BIOTCH OH HO HO."

Clearly, since karma wanted to pay me back for something awful I did, I stepped in it. Yes. Just like the bile foretold.


It's dark, I can't see, there's something disgusting and wet all over my sock, I'm trying not to fling my iPod out the window with my frantically flailing arms, and I may or may not have stepped on my cat in the process. 


Sort of luckily for me, this temporary distress gives me a chance to ignore the fact that the Sentinel Lady is watching me through her giant window, peeking at me in my bathrobe. 


...The hairs on the back of my neck just stood up.


AND! AND! As if that weren't enough, I thought I saw this through my French door standing in my driveway:

...it was really terrifying. I thought maybe my neighbor's insane dog hag gotten loose and fallen into some radioactive waste or something, and now it wanted to devour my soul. Hey. Shit happens. 


Upon a second glance, however, the formidable figure looked more like this:

Yeah. I thought I should share that glorious insight on mornings at the House of Shani. Really. Like, you should have been there. 


Um... I promise to talk about something better next time.