That moment when you thought you were coping . . .

. . . but then you realize you weren't?

Here's the thing I tell myself about myself:  I'm unflappable.  It's not that I'm super easygoing.  I internalize a lot.  But on the outside, it takes a lot to ruffle the feathers.  I'm stoic.  Like the British.  Only with better teeth.

Anyway, the dogs now believe anytime I pick up my keys that I am taking them to the dog park.  They sprint to the door and wait so we can go to the dog park and catch flying objects in our mouths together.  They're all PARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARKPARK!

Most of the time I can disabuse them of the notion that the four of us are going on a date, but you know how dogs and people are--they believe what they wanna believe.  So even though I say NO PARK FOR YOU, they do their damnedest to shoot out the door like bottle rockets--the kind my boys used to set off, which made some people on 2nd Avenue call the police, etc.

Sons=Good times.

But whatever.  Meanwhile, the dogs raced out this morning when I was a) on my way to work and b) already late for work and c) had an open can of Dr Pepper in my hand.  I called them but of course they ignored me and ran around in the street for awhile, trying their best to get hit by Subarus, which is the car of choice here in the Aves.

So I lost it.

I started swearing on the front porch and otherwise losing it for all the world to see, and I was so noisy, that Ken Cannon, who had previously been almost naked because he was getting ready to shower, pulled his clothes back on so he could come outside and assist.

We corralled the dogs.  I stomped off.  And even though I was late, I went to Backer's to buy a hot cross bun.  And as I bit into it while furiously driving to work, I thought to myself, "My coper is broken."  This is what Karin will sometimes say about our six year-old granddaughter who can fall apart easily some days.  Her coper is broken.

My coper is broken, you guys.