The news is out. I'm a cat person. And my future wife will (probably) be a cat person too.
The appeal of dogs escapes me. That might be because my Aunt Mary's German Shepherds attempted to rape me on every meeting, but other contributing factors exist. There's the embarrassing nose in crutch thing - oh, don't mind him, he's just being friendly - and the unspeakable shit situation.
Why is dogshit invisible to individual dog owners, and appears at fifteen times life size to me?
My nightmares consist of me falling into a giant dog turd on a Parisian sidewalk while the locals all stand around shrugging and smoking Gauloise. Pull me out of this poodle-pooh you Froggy fools.
At which point I awake in a sweat with the pillow over my head.
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