The Incident In Which Dough Was Saved, and Cookies Were Tossed

If you are squeamish, you might want to skip this one. It's gross. You've been warned. Just be thankful I didn't include pictures.

Ok, so let me begin a few weeks ago. I was going for a jog very late in the afternoon on New Years Eve. The dog and I stopped at a light and as we waited to cross the street, I couldn't help but notice the young woman in the car in front of me. I could not tell you what she looked like, or what kind of car it was. What caught my attention was the fact that she was clearly singing loudly along to whatever tune was crankin' on her stereo and she was all dressed up. In my mind, it was me 10 years ago. Before marriage, before a kid. Heading out on the town for a fun filled evening, ready to impress my friends, and strangers, with my new outfit or earrings or perfume or whatever, drawing positive energy from some rockin' tunes, ready to abuse substances and make poor choices. Yeah, I totally used to be her.

Of course, I couldn't help but think "WHAT HAPPENED LIFE? THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN REDUCED TO? JOGGING ON NEW YEARS EVE WITH NO PLANS TO GO ANYWHERE?"

Yeah, so tonight, Fate decided to intervene and remind me that jogging with the dog on New Years Eve was a fucking tropical vacation compared to what my life has actually been reduced to.

Fast forward to this past Saturday evening. After spending 30 minutes battling over dinner with my child (and believe me, I don't battle. I simply restate my position, calmly, repeatedly, while he screams back at me. He battles. Super fun. Super. Fun.), we accomplished bath and bedtime with only minor breakdowns. After putting him down, I headed into the kitchen to continue the cooking I had been doing most of the day, when I heard a strange sound from upstairs.

Upon walking up the stairs, I see the dog in the bathroom with garbage scattered EVERYWHERE. Not just any garbage. Period garbage. I was on the final days of my period and, because I attempt to avoid large plumbers' bills, the garbage was full of used tampons and pads.

Ok, so I examine the garbage that's all over the floor a little more closely and realize it's not just scattered. It's gone. It's reduced to little scraps of toilet paper and plastic applicators. The used tampons? Gone. The pads? Also gone. My dignity? Oh, who am I kidding, that went out the door with childbirth.

Can you hear Fate? Can you hear her maniacal laughter? Bitch.

Yeah, the dog clearly ate my tampons. My USED tampons. TamponSSSSSSSSSSS.

The thoughts began whirling through my head. The first thought. YOU FUCKING STUPID-ASS DISGUSTING DOG!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That thought was followed with a few others, involving far less swearing.

Do I take him to the emergency vet? Hmmmm, costly and tricky, since my husband was gone and the kiddo was sleeping. And I had food in the oven. And had ingested some wine. I know, so unlike me. Anyways.

Do I hope that death is quick and painless? I mean, really, if the dog died, would it be the worst thing? One less responsibility, one less expense. Ok, I KNOW this makes me a cold heartless bitch, and I SWEAR I only thought those thoughts briefly. Swear.

Do I just wait it out, conveniently forget to mention it to my husband, and pray that his poop is filled with used tampons at some point in the next 72 hours?

Having had no easy solution present itself, I turned to my trusty answer source: Google. My trusty answer source confirmed my suspicions. Dogs do eat tampons, it is disgusting, and it is vet-trip worthy. Damn it. Every source mentioned inducing vomiting.

Wait a tampon-pickin' second. Inducing vomiting? That can't be THAT hard. Certainly not worth paying some vet $400 to do. Right? Right.

Google again. It informed me that hydrogen peroxide induces dog vomiting. And as we all know, if it's on the Internet, it must be true. Sweet. Even better, I knew we totally had a bottle of it. I find the bottle and look at the date. Hmmmm, does it still work if it expired in July 2007? The answer to that is no. I gave him the dose that Google told me to give and waited. And waited. And waited. No go. Realistically, I probably could have just given him a syringe full of water or Sprite or something and had the same effect.

One text to our fabulous neighbor presented an unexpired bottle of hydrogen peroxide at my door just a few moments later. And she was kind enough to put on pants before coming over. Love her.

Dose #2 down. Vomiting quickly commenced. So. Gross. SOOOOOOOOO gross. Right there, in my living room, a gigantic pile of used, chewed up tampons presented itself. Gag. Me. Tough to tell how many, but I'm guessing around 6. SIX. SIX FUCKING USED TAMPONS. SERIOUSLY??????? Oh. My. God. BLECH!!!!!!!!

Be thankful I didn't take a picture. Not gonna lie, it did briefly occur to me. Before I slapped myself across the fucking face and screamed "WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT?".

I cleaned up the vomit/tampon pile, scoured our bathroom, threw all rugs and towels in the washer, then proceeded to be so distracted and disturbed by the entire situation that I slightly burned a batch of pumpkin granola and, later on, a batch of homemade tator tots. Can you blame me?

The good news is that I saved us $400 at the emergency vet, our bathroom floor is now fabulously cleaned, and our house will soon possess a bottle of hydrogen peroxide that is not expired. The bad news is that jogging on New Years Eve is several steps up from what Fate and Life have determined my Saturday nights are to be for a while: gross, vomit-filled, cleaning opportunities. At least I don't need to waste my time finding the perfect outfit, right?