This universe has revealed a metaphorical mascot for my LIFE.

On Saturday morning, Mike and I took the kids to Petco to buy a fish.  This is important, because we WON a goldfish (which really feels like LOSING, fyi) at the carnival last weekend, and while I had high hopes for it's life expectancy, "Flakes" lasted 72 hours before we found him floating lifeless at the top of the hurricane vase we were using as his bowl.  Problem is, we had invested $22 in fish-related products; yes, I am aware that these supplies can be purchased for less, but 3,856 children won fish at this carnival, and so I was forced to buy the super-sized versions of food and water de-contaminator, or else drive to a pet store in Kansas to save $15.

Anyway.

If you've ever been to a pet store on a Saturday, you know that it is like an adoption carnival--and that you are a cold-hearted snake if you walk out of there without 15 hairless gerbils and a Saint Bernard.   Good thing we forgot that little fact, or else Mike would surely have ruined the universe's plan for me to meet E.T., the Shar-pei/ Pug mix, and future mascot of this blog.  I saw that wrinkled little face, and searched for a solid 12 minutes to find his eyes, and I fell in LOVE.

LOVE.

I mean, it's like they took the already-ample skin off a full-sized Shar-pei (which are kind of big), and awkwardly fit it upon a dog the size of a pug--and quite honestly, I could just massage his neck folds all day long.  Turns out, I LOVE neck skin, and lots of it, which bodes really well for Mike when he is 97.

So, we've been there approximately 14 seconds, and I am somewhat obsessed with E.T.  And his FACE!  Oh, that face.  On the little body.  With the skin.  Seriously, I used every last ounce of my self-control NOT to cuddle right there on the cold floor that the shit-zu just peed on.  

We can't get a dog.  We just can't.  Mike is mentally not there, however, I am fairly certain I could bribe him sexually, or guilt him into it with a photos taken during my c-section, because dude, he OWES me restitution for seeing my uterus in a surgical pan.   Seriously though, he would actually have another CHILD--and they are a THOUSAND times harder to take care of than a dog with a curious case of the Benjamin Buttons.  But most importantly, our lease prevents us from rescuing E.T. and bringing him home RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE, and if I wasn't such a rule follower, I might attempt to just keep him on my bed and feed him bacon FOREVER.  Let's be honest, this whole lease problem is the ONLY detail holding me back.

About the time that it was getting kind of awkward in Petco, I pulled out my iphone to snap a photo of E.T. to use as my facebook profile pic.  When the woman who is fostering him saw this, she said that she had a coupon for a free PORTRAIT sitting, and she offered it to me, along with a complimentary 5x7--and wouldn't you know, the photographer was on-site at Petco that day!  


{Now.  Many of you will often tell me that stuff like this just doesn't happen to you.  To which I would argue--are you regularly making such an ass of yourself by whining, and carrying on, and french kissing a dwarf sharpei, that someone would take pity upon you and offer you a free portrait sitting?  Crazy things like this only happen when someone overhears your desire to tattoo a wrinkly dog face on your calve--so PUT YOURSELVES OUT THERE, friends, and watch the magic happen.}

Really, it's like God was handing me a blog post, in the form of a professional portrait of myself with someone else's dog, that will one day hang upon the walls of my home for ALL TIME.  And when my great-grandchildren ask about it one day, my kids will be able to retell the story of E.T., and how he wasn't ever ours, but how we met and were photographed together in Petco one magical day, and how his story in our family became like unicorn folklore.  Except that I also have a plan, and this involves YOU, blogworld.  Or rather, one of you, that is willing to adopt E.T., or house him for ME for a couple of years, while I try every Jedi-mind trick and slutty beer wench costume to get Mike to gift him to me for Christmas, in a custom made onesie with his new monogram (which would be just a long series of initials).

You see, friends--every once in a while you see something that is so incredibly YOU and it steals a piece of your soul.  For me, this happens with any piece of clothing made out of cotton knit; power ballads sung by Bon Jovi;  fictional high school football teams; and, dogs with excessive facial wrinkling.  What I have learned through the years is that we are not a neatly-pressed, chocolate lab, kind of family--but rather, one that would proudly love an E.T. and dress him in track suits.


But seriously.  He is SO sweet.  And he needs a home, friends.  And I know, I JUST KNOW, that there is one of you out there who cannot stop looking at his face.  I would love it if one of my St. Louis friends would adopt this little nugget, and give me visitation rights.  Please?  PRETTY Please?  Look. At. That. Face.


ONE HOUR after entering the store, Mike pulled me out of there, sans E.T., and sobbing.  Coincidentally, the children picked out a Beta fish that cost $10 (W.T.H?????) that has ZERO neck folds, which goes against everything we stand for, and is a gigantic waste of money, considering that our longest-living fish lasted two whole weeks.  {Edited to note:  If any of you are nervous about us raising a dog, I will remind you that we kept a very unhealthy, overweight, thyroid-challenged and diabetic beagle alive for 10 years.} On the basis of price comparison, Mike was *almost* moved to agree that E.T. and his adoption fees would have been a BARGAIN.


Also, a big thanks to Melanie at Paw Prints Photography for catching this amazing moment in time--if you are looking a pet portrait, check them out at local Petco's on Saturday mornings! 


On deck for tomorrow?  My suspicion that I have leprosy, or a flesh eating virus; but probably it is just a BAD reaction to excessive mosquito bites.