'Tis Better to Be Pissed Off Than Pissed On

Archie's unofficial mascot status is officially revoked.

(That didn't take long.)

The little fucker chose to make known his displeasure (with life, with me, etc.) this morning by pissing on my messenger bag -- a bag which has, for the last three years, served as my carry-all to and from work, my de facto briefcase, if you will.

Naturally, I discovered as much exactly two minutes before I had to leave for work. (Yes working all weekend. No, not fun at all.) Of course, the bag contained not just all sorts of miscellaneous papers, but my favorite scarf -- a baby-blue number from Burberry.

I bought the scarf in 2000, when I was summering at a large law firm. Knowing I likely wouldn't be earning such a plush salary for years to come (I planned to, and did, wind up cutting my teeth in the public sector right out of law school), I splurged on it. Admittedly, it was an extravagance, but the fact that I've lovingly cared for and worn it for the last seven someodd years is testament to the fact that it was a not completely frivolous one. I could just as easily have bought and destroyed seven $30.00 scarves over seven winters; this one was meant to last.

Up until now, it had lasted.

I washed the scarf by hand in a Woolite equivalent intended for lingerie, and hung it up to dry. I'll have it professionally dry cleaned afterwards. (The messenger bag, while equally soiled, is of less concern; it was an ad hoc gift and has had a good life. If it's come to the end of the line, and if I can't get the stink out, the world won't end.)

Crisis averted, I made it to work only eighteen minutes late -- still three-quarters of an hour before my boss arrived. Even so? Archie has moved to the top of my (very short) shit list, big-time.

Charlotte? I don't know if you can read this (the lack of opposable thumbs making 'net access difficult for you), but I officially dub thee the new mascot of this blog. So there.

That'll show him.