So I may be neurotic.

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Me:  Wonder if that damn dog is ever going to stay out of the trash.

Myself:  Oh come on.  You know better.  The trashcan is basically the epitome of doggy heaven.  Nothing like 3 day old pizza and last nights left over ramen to fill your tummy.

Me:  Yeah I know, but you would think after what, 4 years, that they would at least have some manners and keep what they DON’T eat in the can.  Or at least not knock it over.  Or something?

Myself:  But that’s half the fun.  Remember when you knocked over that trash can at the gyno’s office?  That was great.

Me: Um.  Not really.  I was like 9 months pregnant and couldn’t see my feet…. or that stupid trashcan.  Who puts that shit RIGHT by the door?  I didn’t need to see empty pee cups and… uck.

Myself:  Empty pee cups bother you, but you are constantly trying to figure out what exactly the mutt just puked up?  Riiiight.

Me:  Well come on.  Half the time they re-eat it.  So why not?  Besides, it’s much more fun if it’s not you doing the puking.  It’s always kind of a down fall when you’re all “Heeey!  I ate that Olive Pizza earlier!”  or even worse “kid, you totally ate that burger 2 hours ago!”

Myself:  Yes Yes.  But that one time with the green Hi-C?  Yeah that was epic.  It was like slimer was … yeah.

Me:  Okay seriously?  I had managed to block that out for years now… both the show and the epic puking.

Katie:  Dude.  Do you always talk to yourself like that?

Me:  No.

Myself: Yes.

Katie: Thanks for the coffee.  Glad you haven’t changed.

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