Dear Goddamned Beagle,
You are an adult dog. Though it’s true that your actions often belie your age, your days of puppyhood are long past. Or at least they should be.
I guessed that something was amiss from within the shower. The sound effects from my room – the banging and thumping and pattering of feet – could only be construed as “fun is happening for the beagle.” This is never a calming thought. Meanwhile I was speed-rinsing my conditioner. Let me tell you about Moroccan Oil – you don’t want that stuff on your head if there’s a fire, because if you attempt to rinse before leaving the building you’ll die trying to get it all out, and if you don’t rinse you’ll likely end up a human torch… but I digress.
I rushed through my shower, grabbed a towel and opened the door. The best you could muster upon my entrance was “Wut?”
Ok fine. I guess they were a little strappy for me.
Thanks for the fashion edit, Goddamned dog.