A fly has been hovering over my desk this morning. It apparenetly likes to be perched on top of the iMac. But what does it really want in a newsroom? Then as soon as I forget about it, the fly buzzes around my head getting closer than anyone/anything should to my ears. Seriously. So I shoo it away, because I’d rather have it sitting on my iMac screen than buzzing in my ear.
On a completely unrelated creature matter, I’m not a dog person. (See, creature. I was going to say animal, but a fly doesn’t really see to qualify. I guess technically it does, but that seems to be given the fly a little too much credit …) So, anyway, Greg, thankfully, isn’t a dog person either. So I woke up this morning remembering I dreamed he brought a cute, fuzzy dog with feet proportionally too big for its puppy body home. In my dream, he didn’t call. Just surprised us. (That’s me and Cate.) Well, you know, that’s sweet and all. Except I’m not a dog person. And Cate is a bit too small to care at this point. So I asked Greg to make sure he called before he brought any puppies — regardless of how cute they are — home. Despite his grogginess, he clearly reminded me that’s he not a dog person.
You know, come to think of it: We’re just not much on pets, or, for that matter, pestering insects that apparently want to make friends with me and my computer.