Okay, so following in my Mom, Big Mar's footsteps, my sister and I belong to a so-called "Card Club". Seven of us ladies get together every month to bond through the consumption of copious amounts of chocolates and cocktails. There is no room for cards or games on our table. There are too many liquor bottles, er... I mean plates of food.
Last night we chickies were hanging out, doing what we do, having a great time yakking when the conversation turned to, of all things, cremation.
I know. Weird, right? I was there and even I don't know how we got there.
Anywho, the discussion was motoring along when Kathy-the hostess for this sorority soiree-dashes out of the room returning with what looks like an elongated foam Big Mac carton containing the remains of her dearly-departed dog, Elsa.
I admit it. Curiosity got the best of us.
She lifted the ash-filled Ziploc baggie from the packaging, rolled it over and over in her hands. We all leaned in closer to examine the dusty bits.
And that's when it happened...
Our screams echoed through the housing plan, startling bats into flight.
You know it's time to put the wine back in the fridge when the doggie dust get dumped on the table. Just sayin'.