One of my dogs must really enjoy porn.

I hate doing laundry. There’s this whole process where I have to bring my laundry basket to the basement then go all the way upstairs and hang out while I wait for it to finish then go all the way back downstairs to change it out and bring it back upstairs and fold it and put it away, etc etc.

FUCK LAUNDRY.

Perspective.

ANYWAY.

I’m in the middle of this tedious process and at some point, I forget to close the basement door. Now. I have two little shit dogs, that due to their immense stupidity and my father’s asthma, are kept in two rooms of the house: the kitchen and the living room. We keep all other doors closed to pin them in.

the little one looks like the creature from the neverending story.

FAST FORWARD.

The next day, I’m going to get dressed. My laundry had all been cleaned and put away in their specific drawers and compartments. I grab a pair of undies.

Clearly, I reached into my porn star drawer.

My panties are crotchless. Apparently, one of the damn dogs snuck into the basement when I left the door open. Not only that, he chewed out the crotch of my panties. I’m standing in a matching bra and homemade garter. Even the lingerie I buy isn’t this skanky.

Nearly ALL my underwear has been destroyed, with the exception of two black thongs and some white granny pants that are so old and ugly that I understand why the dogs didn’t go for them.

I’m reminded of those times in life where all your underwear are in the laundry basket. You have the choice: do you want to do laundry? Or do you want to spend some of your hard earned money on some new panties?

Victoria’s Secret is about some serious business from me.

Not that they haven’t before.

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About L.A.

Mom Life/Engaged Life/Blog Life/Love Life

Posted on September 7, 2011, in Words and Phrases and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 21 Comments.

  1. I haven’t even finished reading this blog, but I loved the neverending story when I was little.

    • Do you want your own personal Falcor??!!

      • Detroit doesn’t like doggs. and I’m pretty sure he didn’t watch the neverending story. I judge.

      • HOW ARE EITHER OF THOSE POSSIBLE?! Teach him, GoldDust. Bring him to the awesome side of life.

      • I don’t think I’ve ever seen that movie. Or at least not in one seating. Soccer got in the way of me seeing a lot of those childhood movies; I only just saw the goonies this winter! But at least I’ve read I Love You Forever!!

      • Love you forever is a must.

        Never sending story is just a knowledge thing. You just have to remember it exists, shit happens in it, and there is a giant flying dog named Falcor!

      • I like the little one being called Jack over Falcor. You know, like Titanic.

        Also: I like how the curly one was not involved in this post.

      • It’s cuz he’s old and grumpy. He can’t be bothered to look like mythical creatures or chew underwear.

  2. My dogs have done this, but they’re big so they usually eat the WHOLE underwear and then I find it 3 days later in their poops.

  3. I agree with you… FUCK LAUNDRY!!! 🙂
    You’re captions had me and my friends cracking up, he DOES look like Falcor!!!!

  4. you know… i kind of have the feeling that you left the door open on purpose… so that you have a reason to spend a fortune at victoria’s secret and not have to feel bad about it! ;-p

    • Ohhh, alterior motives. I like it. Maybe my lady parts told my subconscious they desired new lacy things and therefore, the door was left open.

      …that’s actually a total possibility.

  5. Leave it to me to not comment on the laundry part, or the crotchless pantie part, but the Falcor part and say Falcor rules and it is a name in the running for a possible future dog adopotion.

  6. The resemblance of that little dog to Falcor is almost creepy!

    In other news, I had a poodle once that did that and once she left me without any more panties, she started on my jeans and shorts.

    • Oh, thank god they didn’t get into my jeans. I would’ve started shaving them and making their fur into wool. To pay for the ruined jeans, of course.

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