Category Archives: SEX

Men of Years Past, or Childhood Memories

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It’s the most wonderful time…of the year.  Not only is it the holiday season (well, almost the holiday season, I was singing Santa Baby in a slutty voice to myself this morning, so it totally counts) but it is also the Sexiest Man Alive season, as I alluded to in my last post.  Mark Wahlberg with no shirt on?  Hello nurse. 

I love the SMA awards (like the AMA awards, but sexier) not just because it is a thrill to see Patrick Duffy and Tom Brokaw make the list, against all odds I would think, but also because there is something about a magazine devoted to so many “hunks” (remember when people actually used the word “hunk”?  Actually I think my mom still does; “That Sam Elliott is a hunk.”) that gets my friends’ creative juices flowing.  Maybe that’s not the only kind of juices that are flowing.  Eeee.  I just squeamed myself out.  Sorry, everyone. 

In any case, for amusing commentary on the state of manly sex appeal, visit Hannah, Nan, and Beck.  Last year I wrote a list of the ten sexiest men, not including my husband, of course.  He would be top of the list, but you know what they say about writers who boast about their hunka-hunka-burning-loves, they are lame and boring.  Once I was having a purely theoretical discussion with some male co-workers about their “lists” – and in the context of this post I need not describe what such a list entails, readers will have to come to their own conclusions – and one co-worked informed us all rather righteously that there was one person on his list and that was his wife.  It kind of killed the mood, to be honest.  And so I will say right now for good form that my husband obviously on the top of my list, he’s super sexy and awesome and he looks like a cross between Jim Cuddy and Kyle McLaughlin, but in a good way, and he wears the hell out of a business suit.  Blah blah blah back to my SMA list.

I like my men dark, with strong jawlines, and a certain air of success and confidence about them.  But it wasn’t always that way.

Nicole’s List of Men Whom She Used To Crush On

1982 – Almanzo Wilder

I developed a huge crush on Almanzo as I spent my free time curled up with the Little House books, probably with my “Bookworm!” or my “I Heart Books!” bookmark by my side.  Oh!  How apt it was that his nickname was Manly, as he courageously battled minus forty temperatures and rising blizzards to save the entire town of DeSmet from starvation!  Oh, how my seven-year-old heart beat when Almanzo touched Laura’s mitten tip on the way home from church (when he was 25 and she was 15…but whatevs…).  Oh, the thrill when they exchanged name cards and went for buggy rides.  Remember when he surprised her by visiting on Christmas Eve, bearing gifts of a breastpin and oranges, and he asked, huskily, “Can’t you thank a fellow better than that.”  THEN THEY KISSED.  Old-timey romance; I’d rather not think about how after they got married they got diptheria, had crop failures and crippling debt, AND their house burned down.  Just look at this for photographic proof of pioneer sexiness.  Just don’t think about the one-bath-a-week thing.


1984 – Corey Hart

I was in the Corey Hart fan club.  I had posters and records that I would play over and over.  You can never surrender!  I’m pretty sure I have a xeroxed letter from him somewhere in my possession.  Sorry, younger self, I don’t really see the appeal here.

1985 – Gilbert Blythe

I know, he was on the list last year.  Every year at Christmas time I wish I had a VCR and the old cassette that I had recorded the CBC version of Anne of Green Gables on.  I wish I could still see those old Canadian Tire commercials.  I loved the books, and I just loved Gilbert.  I do still see the appeal, for a ten-year-old bookworm girl.

 
 
1986 – Judd Nelson
 
I watched The Breakfast Club a few years after it was released, and developed an enormous crush on Judd Nelson.  Bender!  This was the start to a long, unfortunate period in which I was very attracted to the Bad Boy.  No good can come of this, younger Nicole!  These are the guys that will end up dead or incarcerated!  Or at very best will be employed in dead-end jobs, still smoking dope at age 40.  Yet, it still is very cute when Molly Ringwald gives him her diamond earring.  EXCEPT NOW YOUR EARRINGS DON’T MATCH, DUMBASS.
 
 
 
1987 – Lou Diamond Phillips
 
Remember La Bamba?  And the Young Guns movies?  Yeah. 
 
 
 

1988 – John Cusack

Good taste, younger Nicole!  He’s still on the list!  “I’m an athlete so I rarely drink…what I’m saying is that you can trust your daughter with me for the next six to eight hours.”  God, I love that movie still.  And who can resist this?  Even my mom, when she watched this with me in the mid-nineties, got all uppity that Lloyd stood there with his boombox, unanswered.  “Go to him!  Doesn’t she go to him?”  Word, Mom.  What’s up with the sweatpants, though?  Oh, right.  Athlete.



1989 – Tom Hooper

If you are not a Canadian girl in her late-thirties to early forties, then you may not remember The Grapes of Wrath – the band from Kelowna, not the book.  Oooh, how I longed to run my hands through his curls.  Where is he now?  I have no idea.

1990 – Jim Morrison

I almost stopped the list at 1989 because of my deep shame and embarrassment at admitting that I had an enormous crush on a dead guy.  Not only that, but a dead guy who was crazy, wore leather pants, and drank himself to death at age 27.  But in the interest of veracity and full disclosure, I will close with the Lizard King himself.

And now that I have divulged my deep, dark, secret (or not so secret, really) crushes of my formative years, it’s your turn, dear reader.  Who did you crush on, back in the day when it was still all about VCR’s and records and writing notes in class?  Tell Nicole everything.  xoxo

Friday Fun in the Boyhouse

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Well, hello there, Friday!  It’s been a long time since I posted on a Friday evening.  Normally I’m too busy sitting on the couch making out with a bottle of wine and watching Jeopardy or reruns of 30 Rock to think about writing anything.  But lucky you, dear readers, because tonight I am sitting here making out with a bottle of wine in front of my laptop. 

Fridays are always crazy around here; crazy in a “fun, exciting” way and not in a “dress the dog up in a bumblebee outfit” way.  I won’t bore you with the details of Friday yoga practice and how it’s Primary Series day, unless you care.  Do you?  Anyway, Friday yoga practice is different from the rest of the week, and then the kids’ school has early dismissal on Fridays – at 1:10 – which means they eat lunch at the school, which normally they never do.  And – sssshhh, it’s a secret – I always have a different lunch when they are at school.  Sometimes I just eat guacamole.  Today I had crackers and a spinach smoothie.  THIS IS HOW CRAZY IT GETS AROUND HERE.  Then, of course, there is no yoga practice tomorrow, and we know what that means: I crack open the alcoholic beverages as soon as is socially acceptable.  Sometimes sooner.  Not today though; today I had to take the kids to get their hair cut at 4:30, and so I did have to wait until an actually socially acceptable time to open that bottle of Cupcake wine. 

I will tell you this: I am so thankful that, since the wet-socks-from-stepping-in-the-puddle-of-pee incident, the boys never want to play in the ballpit at Beaners. 

Today I was at the spa for a wax.  I started going to this spa ten minutes away from my house after my esthetician decided that she was quitting esthetics forever.  I tried not to take that personally, as she told me during a bikini wax and I wondered if my yeti-like condition drove her to it.  Anyway, the spa is awesome since I can get an appointment whenever I want, unlike the wheeling and dealing I had to do with my former esthetician, whose hours were varied and ever-changing (“I have an opening at 7:15 pm on Tuesday, or 2:00 pm on Friday next week…”).  It is also a full-service spa, with nice little amenities such as fluffy robes, slippers, and complimentary herbal tea and organic gingersnaps that look only the teeniest bit like dog treats.  I partake in none of those niceties because I’m just getting a wax, dammit, I want to get in and out as soon as possible.  Anyway, I was waiting in the cozy room with the lounge chairs and fireplace, waiting for the esthetician to call me, and I noticed a man.  It’s not unusual to see men in the spa, but usually they are with wives or girlfriends, getting couples’ treatments.  However, it was 10:30 on a Friday morning and this man was by himself, in the lounge chair, wearing a robe and slippers and sipping on the complimentary herbal tea.  He was also studiously reading a magazine, which, upon further examination, was O Magazine.  I found myself completely obsessed.  Was he trying to figure out how to Live his Best Life?  Was he having an Aha! Moment?  Was he disagreeing vehemently with Adam Glassman about the appropriateness of yellow skinny pants in the workplace?  Then I noticed he was near the end of the magazine.  Maybe he was finding out What I Know For Sure?  I haven’t read O Magazine in a while, so I don’t know what the latest What I Know For Sure is, but I sure am curious.

Fortunately I was called in for my appointment.  Any longer and I probably would have mentally written a novel about the Guy in the Spa Reading Oprah.

Here’s What I Know For Sure for this week:

1) If you are telling a group of people the many and convoluted ways that you stay healthy during cold and flu season, and those ways include but are not limited to excessive vitamin consumption, hand sanitizer use, and a homeopathic flu protocol, and those people are staring at you in silence, do NOT try to make things less awkward by talking MORE.  The more you talk the crazier you seem, so STOP TALKING.

2) People who look like Santa are not always nice.  I was parking my car and there was a complete asshole in the parking lot who looked exactly like Santa.

3) If you have two children who have the same sock size, buy a whole lot of the exact same socks.  That way you never have to spend time pairing and matching the socks.

I had more things to tell you about, about crazy Fridays, but I just finished my second glass of wine and I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY.  Oh yes, now I remember – apparently certain Banana Boat sunscreens are possible fire risks, because if you apply the sunscreen and then expose yourself to spark or flame prior to the sunscreen drying completely, you could set yourself on fire.  Now, I’m certainly not dismissing or belittling those who have become engulfed in flames post-sunscreen applications, but how much of a problem is this?  Who is exposing their own skin to sparks and/or flames immediately following sunscreen application?  Maybe this IS a problem, I don’t really know. 

Hey, guess what else I learned today?  Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel got married!  I thought they were married already, actually.  This was very anticlimatic information, like when I find out an elderly celebrity died who I thought had died many years ago.  Oh well.  Bringing sexy back, which for a married couple means getting into a bottle of Cupcake wine and wearing a Top Gun Halloween costume. 

A touch of the mitten-tip

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I have been reading the Little House series to the boys for a while now, and we are now almost finished that epistle of madcap gaiety, Little Town on the Prairie.  As opposed to the very depressing previous book, The Long Winter – everyone is going to die! – this book is full of exciting good times like the Friday night Literaries and the weeklong discussions following the Friday night Literaries and the anticipation of the Friday night Literaries, and also a New England Supper.  I’m not entirely sure what makes it New England, as opposed to South Dakota, but maybe it’s the baked beans and pumpkin pie?  I don’t know. 

The Friday night Literaries start out with a spelling bee, which puts the whole town into a competitive tizzy.  Pa wins the bee, naturally, since Pa can do no wrong, except for the whole moving his family into more and more isolated and dangerous places.  The spelling bee was pretty exciting, though, and I’m not just saying this because I myself was on the television show Spelling Bee, hosted by former Stampede Wrestling host and Calgary celebrity Ed Whalen.  I was quite the spelling star back in the day!  It made up for my complete inability to do anything well in Phys Ed.  Or, at least, I think it did.  Spelling’s more important than being able to do a chin-up, right?

Anyway, it’s been fun reading this book to the boys, what with all the wholesome – and also offensive – entertainments.  Minstrel show, I’m looking at you.  But this is also the book where the romance between Laura and Almanzo begins!  They exchange name cards, and Laura also accepts a ride to school from him, that hussy, and when she gets out of the buggy, they touch mitten-tips.  IT BEGINS.

My husband and I were talking about what it would be like to have an old-timey romance.  I use the term “romance” loosely since it seems like if you were of a certain age, and there was a man there also of a certain age, and neither of you had anything seriously wrong with you like a missing leg, then you would probably get married.  This seems to be the case with Laura and Almanzo – I mean, Laura was 15 and Almanzo was 25, which is a bit squicky, but likely there were no eligible females over the age 15 and he was tired of the bachelor life.  Think of all the marriages which would have started for similar reasons!  Romance would boil down to a buggy ride, and maybe a heart-pounding touch of the mitten-tips.

But real life romance is very different from movie romance anyway, isn’t it?  Real life romance isn’t all about rose petals on the bed or bubble baths for two with champagne.  It isn’t about getting it on while lying on a beach with ocean waves lapping at your feet.  Sand, ouch.  It isn’t even about him standing outside your window with a boom box lifted above his head, playing In Your Eyes, although that would be awesome.  Real life romance, in my mind, is personified by my husband checking restaurant menus to see if there are any good vegetarian options, even though he’s planning on having steak, or by my husband recording a late-night talk show just because the guest was Hugh Jackman.  Real life romance is my husband becoming worried about my bone density and ordering calcium supplements for women 50+, even though I’m not really close to 50+.  It’s sweet – he cares about my bone density!

What do you think?  What’s the most real-life romantic thing that you or your spouse has done for each other lately?

Cupcakes, shopping, and Junior Mints

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I am pleased to report the happy news that there have been zero barfing incidents since the first day of school.  Although, writing that, I just broke out into a cold sweat thinking that I just jinxed everything and now my children will be up all night barfing.  Cue the Stevie Wonder riffs.

I really, really hope this doesn’t come to pass, and not just for the obvious reasons: tomorrow is Jake’s birthday party!  After the insanity of Mark’s last birthday party, I privately vowed to never host another birthday party as long as I live, but Jake very sweetly only wanted to invite five of his neighbourhood friends – whose mothers I am all friends with – to go play at the playground and then eat cupcakes.  I felt I could really get behind that idea!  And so that is exactly what we are going to do, and the weather is going to cooperate as well, it seems.  At this very moment I have cupcakes in the oven – these cupcakes, if you’re interested – with the promise of making extra peppermint frosting just for the birthday boy.  I’m also wearing my brand new apron:

Isn’t it adorable?  It has cupcakes on it and I’m MAKING CUPCAKES!  I’m going to feature it in an upcoming “Nicole’s Favourite Things” post, but strangely, like kale chips and 70s soft rock, I am the only one in my house who does not revile this sweet apron.  What is wrong with everyone I live with?  I put it on last night to show the kids, who stared at me, making “Uhhhhhhh” noises until Mark said “Mom?  It’s kind of lame.”  I showed my husband, who wasn’t shy about sharing his unfavourable opinion.  But what does he know?  He also said “I thought when you said you had a new apron, it was, you know, the kind that is black and lacy…”  It’s not a French maid outfit, husband.  I’m using it for actual baking, not “baking”.

That was the strangest euphemism for sex ever, no?

Anyway, so cupcakes are on the to-do list today, as well as putting together loot bags.  I went out yesterday specifically to buy loot bag treats, a replacement shirt for the one that was barfed on, and shoes for Mark.  I’m kicking myself a little because – I don’t mean to brag, here, people – I am the most organized person I know.  Yet I fell down on this one.  I bought indoor school shoes for the boys weeks ago, but since they were in sandals all summer, I failed to notice that Mark’s regular outdoor runners were a size too small until the first day of school.  ORGANIZATIONAL FAILURE.  He could barely walk in them, poor giant-flippered child.  So I thought I would just pick up a pair while running all my other errands.

And let me tell you, by the end of the day I was so frustrated and crabby that I was ready to burn the whole mall down.  I went to every single store that sold shoes and I purchased the only pair of boys’ runners in Mark’s size.  THE ONLY PAIR.  I have written many times about my frustration over the lack of selection for boys’ wear, but that really took the cake.  I ended up paying an exhorbitant price for a simple pair of running shoes which will likely be outgrown in six months, although thankfully they can be passed down to Jake as well.  BUT STILL.  Then I attempted to find party favours that were not embossed with Tinkerbell or Barbie, but again, this was futile.  I ended up going to the dollar store where I found not only Star Wars-themed Pez dispensers, but also Angry Birds-themed napkins and bags, and gigantic packages of candy, including Junior Mints!  I hope I don’t eat all the Junior Mints before I get them into the loot bags.  Who doesn’t like a Junior Mint?  They are so refreshing!

So the first week back at school has been full of excitement, hasn’t it?  There are a few other things going on around here that are amping things up a little, such as an in-law visit and preparing for the first school council meeting.  Suffice it to say I’m looking forward to my Friday night cocktails/wine/any alcohol at all.  How early is too early for a drink, really? 

Padme and Anakin and the Five Languages of Love

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Getting right into the year 2005, I watched Revenge of the Sith on the weekend.  Here’s a little piece of advice: do not watch the violent end of a movie minutes before leaving the house to attend a led primary practice.  You will feel all shaky and NAMASTE, BITCH.  Related: it’s very, very awkward when, at the end of a led practice, you turn to your neighbour to say “Namaste” and that neighbour is looking the other direction.  So, you turn to your other neighbour, who is also looking the other way, but you feel that the first neighbour is now looking at you so you turn your head quickly, only to see that they have already bowed their head to their mat.  Awkward. 
Anyway, Revenge of the Sith!  I loved it more than all the other Star Wars movies combined, which isn’t saying much, really, since I have seen The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones a number of times and yet I cannot remember what happens because I either fall asleep or become completely bored and zone out every single time.  But I really, really liked Revenge of the Sith; it was interesting and fast-paced and compelling.  I have only a few problems with it, and although this makes me feel a bit like those nerds that created “Jar Jar Binks Must Die” webpages immediately following the first midnight viewing of The Phantom Menace, I will nonetheless detail them here.

First, near the end of the movie, the conversation between Anakin and Obi-Wan goes as follows:

Obi-Wan: Anakin, the Sith are evil!

Anakin: From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!

FROM MY POINT OF VIEW?  What kind of writing is that?  George Lucas may have well have had them having a twitter conversation:

@ObiWan IMO Jedi = Jerks #haters #SithRule #CheatDeath

Although, it would have been tremendously cool if Obi-Wan had said “Have you tried Hare Krishna?” after saying “Then you are lost.”

My second issue is about Padme’s death.  All this time, I had thought that Padme died a grisly death in childbirth, which, quite frankly, would have been pretty realistic.  But yet, she died of a broken heart!  She lost the will to live!  Padme, you just had two babies – LIVE FOR THEM.  You’re not the only woman who got knocked up by a guy who turned out to be a dick.  I mean, we all make mistakes.  Padme’s was having unprotected sex with a Jedi.  Get over it and mother your children.  Jesus.

Maybe Padme and Anakin should have discussed the Five Languages of Love.  My friend and I were talking about these love languages yesterday, which are Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Gifts, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch.  We are now, as I told a young friend of mine who is in the stage of life when all her friends are getting married, in the stage where marital issues are starting to rear their ugly heads.  My friend was telling me about a book detailing five different love languages, and how sometimes it seems like your partner is being a jerk, but maybe he’s showing his love in other ways.  For example, maybe sometimes you want your shmoopie to give you some PDA, but he never does.  Instead, he shows his love by always unloading the dishwasher (note: this does not happen in my house.  If my husband unloaded the dishwasher, I would be so excited I would rip off my clothes and have sex with him right on the countertop).  But anyway, our conversation centred around understanding how someone says I Love You.  It was interesting, and it made me think that maybe Anakin was showing his love through Acts of Service (turning to the Dark Side so Padme wouldn’t die, ostensibly), but Padme really wanted some Quality Time.  I don’t know.  Things could have been resolved so differently.

Our discussion around the love languages got me thinking – what love language do I speak?  How do I show my love?  My husband would probably say that I need to work on my Quality Time.  For example, the other night I was immersed in a book and he was talking to me.  Instead of looking up from my book and listening, I had a “mmm, really?” kind of response.  He totally busted me for not listening.  Oops!  But I will tell you about something really nice that HE did that is totally sweet and romantic.  I was talking about how I wanted to go visit my grandma, but I didn’t want to take the whole family.  The next thing I knew, he had booked me a flight and a rental car, and had figured out child care.  If it was up to me, a year later I would still be saying “I want to go visit Grandma…”  Hooray for decisiveness!

In other words, people, I am going on a solo trip!  To Saskatchewan!  I haven’t traveled by myself since 2003, I’m the teensiest bit nervous.  So, I should say, is everyone around me.  I have to drive two hours after flying to Regina, and, given my ability to get hopelessly lost in the city I’ve lived my whole life in, there is some concern that I will end up in Nunavut or, alternatively, South Dakota.  My husband has been busy googling maps and reminding me to take the Garmin, my mother keeps asking nervously if I know how to get to the highway, and my dad is probably hand drawing me maps of the various streets around the airport as we speak.  It’ll be FINE.  How lost can I get?  (Don’t answer that).

So anyway, I’m so in love with my husband, I get to go see my grandma, and I am going to be away from the kids for longer than I’ve ever been, which is causing me a little bit of angst.  I’m pretty excited though – it helps that my kids are going to the lake with my parents, which they have told me is WAY more fun than when I come.  What?  Clearly, their love language is NOT Words of Affirmation.

Fruit Salad, Yummy Yummy.

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We’ve been experiencing SUMMER here in YYC.  The days have been sunny, and warm – hot even.  Of course, this is relative.  The highest temperature of the week is 30 degrees Celsius, which is 86 degrees Fahrenheit, which – when compared with my friends down in Virginia, where the tarmac at an airport melted in the 105 F heat, plus 90% humidity – seems more pleasantly warm than scorching.  However, according to local newscasters, this is a heat wave!  And we’re all going to melt! 

This is my very favourite kind of weather; in the rare occasions that it does get this warm, I get a crazy case of carpe diem: Must.Spend.Every.Possible.Minute.Outside.Before.Snow.Comes.  Fortunately, being a lady of leisure, I can do this.  For example, on Sunday we spent the whole afternoon lounging beside our backyard pool:

Unfortunately some armed thugs stormed the yard:

The dog retreated to the safety of the deck:

And I got a (relative) suntan!

Yesterday the boys and I spent the whole afternoon with a friend and her two sons at the local outdoor pool and it was so hot that I actually voluntarily got in the water.  That never happens.  Fortunately this guy biked over to the pool, and things got even HOTTER:

Sadly, this is untrue – the pool was filled with moms and kids.  The happy shrieking was enough to keep the wildlife away:

WHERE ARE THE ANIMAL RIGHTS ACTIVISTS?  Won’t anyone think of the poor baby lions?

But I realize that, although I love the heat, there are people who do not.  For them, I give you tips on keeping cool, even if you do not have a backyard pool and/or local outdoor pool at your disposal, like I do.  Here’s an idea: pour yourself a cocktail with lots of ice and run a nice, cool bubble bath:

Or maybe take your sailboat out onto the water:

Aiee.  Tan lines. 

Don’t worry about cooking dinner.  Fruit salad will do just fine.  Don’t forget the pineapple.

ALL of these men were featured in issues of Playgirl from the 1970s.  As my friend Beck said, how were any of us born if that’s what the desirable dudes looked like back then?  It truly is mysterious.

When I say "kind of a dick" I mean in a good way.

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Here’s proof that I have a very confident husband: he was completely unfazed by my shameless male objectification as I ranked the cast members on last night’s Grey’s Anatomy, based on hotness.  For anyone interested, here are my top two:

And here is who I rank at the bottom:
“Too young for you?” my husband asked.  Exactly.  Call me in 20 years, Dr. Avery.  Well, actually, in 20 years I will be almost sixty, so probably my tastes will have altered somewhat.  But theoretically call me in 20 years.
A while back, I heard someone say that if there was a Hooters for women, it would just be men in business suits walking around holding up their impeccable credit scores, and I have to say, that really spoke to me.  If I was to say I had a “type”, it would be an older, salt-and-pepper haired man in a business suit who is kind of a dick, but yet inwardly romantic.  Fortunately my husband fits into this genre.  It would be a bit strange if he didn’t, just as it would be strange if he suddenly announced that he prefers petite blonde women with big breasts, rather than crazy artificial redheads who really like to make lists and drink wine.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure that there are too many other crazy list-making wine-tippling artificial redheads that he is particularly enamoured with, but still.
Last night we watched Grey’s Anatomy and I engaged in sexist behaviour while the snow came down, giant fluffy flakes.  It turns out we had a record snowfall!  Today the snow is melting and the grass is looking much less brown.  Springtime in Calgary!  The wet snow is making the grass greener!  Hooray for giant wet snowfalls!
Another sign that it is springtime, other than the festive April snowshowers, is that my dog is behaving like an imbecile.  I’m guessing this is spring-related, anyway.  Yesterday before the snow I went with some friends and their dogs to the off-leash park.  We walked and chatted, and as we were almost finished our walk, I noticed my dog way behind us, sniffing and happy and rolling enthusiastically in the grass.  When he caught up to us it became evident that not only was he enthusiastically rolling in the grass, he was enthusiastically rolling in some other dog’s poop.  I’m not going to lie to you, people.  I pretty much hated my dog at that moment and in the moments that followed.  I especially hated him as we had driven to the dog park, and the ride home, though brief, was without a doubt the worst olfactory experience I have ever had.  My very good friend who was with me not only rode home in my rancid-o-mobile, but she gave me some no-rinse foamy dog shampoo when I dropped her off.  I can never repay her for this kindness.  I need to buy a case of this no-rinse foamy dog shampoo, to have on hand just in case such a horror ever occurs again.  Did I mention my dog is very fluffy?  Three applications later and he was back to his normal, non-smelly self.  However, it has taken me until now to fully forgive him for being so disgusting. 

It’s a good thing he’s so cute.