That's your favorite cologne.
Speaking of:
If anyone was wondering how my Friday was going, I just went upstairs to check on the dogs (they were suspiciously quiet), and found the bulldog was not in her usual spot on the recliner. This was very odd.
I call for her, she comes out from under the sink in the bathroom (it's where we keep towels, and its like a little nest area for her), and I can just tell she doesn't seem to be feeling well.
I'm concerned, this bulldog is my baby, so I sit down and start petting her. She gets into it, as dogs do, they get all wiggly and shit. Then she climbs up in my lap (bulldogs are very clingy). I pet her for a bit, then I stop, she just does that wiggle dogs do when they want you to keep petting them ... And then she proceeds to turn her head and vomit out this vile shit sludge of half digested fucking feces all over my bare fucking leg, because, of course, I'm wearing my fucking basketball shorts.
We both just stared at each other in horrified silence for a second until she ran into her kennel, leaving me and my leg sitting there in a small puddle of shitpuke and the newest addition to my PTSD library.
She seems to be feeling much better tho, so I won't have a vet bill. Got that going for me at least. Yippee.