The other night Mark brought his friend Jen over. She has a baby puppy named Elvis that goes all places with her. Like Paris' Tinkerbell. When he arrived he was wearing a camo tshirt--very chic--but soon tired of it and went naked. He peed on our floor twice, but as he weighs about as much as an iPod, we were able to clean up with a single square of TP. We had to be gentle around Elvis because he just got out of the hospital after major surgery stemming from an unfortunate foray into some KFC.

I bring this up now because I just saw a puppy on the street, and if he had jumped into his owner's car just two seconds later, I am fairly certain he would have already been in my purse and wearing my sunglasses. By now he would be eating peanut butter out of a tea saucer, and I would call him Mr. Darcy.