1. I’m thankful for that little spot in front of Remy’s ears. Luke was the one who discovered this, but if you rub directly in front of Remy’s ears it is like you are shoving morphine up his nose. (Not that we’ve done that. Our abuse of Remy has been limited to putting him down a slide on a late-night back from the pub walk, and I still maintain he enjoyed it.) No, really. A minute or two of dedicated ear-rubbing and he will go from this:
This is why we can’t have playdates.
Sometimes, this is very necessary. Mostly when we’re trying to sleep, or talk on the phone, or do anything that might not be enhanced by the regular squeaking of a Kong Wubba and the pathetic purr-growls of Remy trying to entice you into playing with him.
2. I’m grateful my boyfriend likes stupid shit as much as I do. It lets me get away with suggesting ridiculous purchases. For example, last week I bought a frog marionette from the 1960s that had been hanging in the Oxfam shop window near us for about a week. Do I know how to work a marionette puppet? No. Do I have any interest in learning? Aside from a vague desire to freak the shit out of Luke by waking him up with a frog puppet slowly stroking its wooden webbed fingers along his cheek, not particularly. I just really liked the puppet, and spending twenty-five pounds on it seemed like a great idea. And because we were on our way home from buying Luke a dartboard, he was like “YES. That is a GREAT IDEA. I am buying you that puppet RIGHT NOW.” And he did! Basically, we try to distract each other from our own ludicrous spending habits by encouraging the other person to give in to their dorky hobbies as much as possible. It means we’re broke, but I’m sorry, I can’t hear you, I’m practicing on my new ukulele. (I’m lying, I’ve had that ukulele for two years.)
3. I am grateful my favourite pizza combination disgusts the rest of the world. Barbecue sauce instead of tomato, the reduced fat cheese (I’m watching my figure—plus for this pizza, a higher sauce:cheese ratio is better), double olives, jalapenos. It is DELICIOUS, and I’ve had people back away slowly from my pizza box upon discovering its contents. I didn’t intend to concoct the most revolting combo possible, but it’s given me a huge fringe benefit for those annoying moments when a meat-eater wants to try a slice of yours (oh, shall we trade slices? oh, wait, we can’t, because there’s DEAD SHIT ON YOURS). This vegetarian pizza is mine all mine, suckers.