Sadly, I'm not joking. Apparently, the guy who used to deliver mail in my area for a few years killed a 52-year-old woman in her home a few blocks away in a suspected drug-related incident. I guess it's hard to think of a government employee living a life like this, and resorting to something like that. I remember seeing a young-ish blond-ish mailman in my neighborhood for a while. He looked like your everyday mailman.I live in one of those half-townie, half-yuppie parts of town. It is generally safe around here, but we have our one or two token murders on the outskirts each year, usually 'drug-related'.
So - don't worry, mom - I'm not on drugs, I have vigilant neighbors, and I have Phoebe-dog here who will either 1) lick or 2) simply annoy any intruder to death.
In closing, I just wanted to post a warning for any readers planning to attack me:
Phoebe sheds like a mad woman. My friends and family can vouch for the fact that anyone who sets foot on my property will leave with a minimum of thirty Phoebe-hairs on them...just from walking into my foyer or opening my car door...woven so deep into fabric that you'd think someone did a hook-rug on you with Phoebe fur.
And the dander with the fur - stuff you can't even see, but it's there, dude - DNA, baby - Phoebe fur and dander that becomes the fiber of your very being just by looking at my house the wrong way. These skin and hair cells happily traverse wireless, broadband and dial-up connections, so if you're looking me up online, we're already all over that. Consider yourself furred and dandered.
P.S. This 'life insurance' explanation is a great new excuse for not dusting or vacuuming, particularly since the 'ow, I just had ACL surgery' gig was getting stale.
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