Monday, November 21, 2011

No caption necessary.
Italian pooper scoopers (literally) 
I have been a naughty little blogger because I finally let the call of the blog allow me to go a little cuckoo crazy yesterday. Let me just say that, being me, I did move all the way across the world only to end up having a ton of familal social obligations -- even though they are not for my actual family. We are really and truly honored and feel blessed to be included in our friends' gatherings.  But in all dysfunctional extended expat families there is always one super special relative; and, in this case, it is the sister-in-law who is obsessed with her bulldog Romeo.

This guy has a nicer winter coat than I do.

This dog understands  baby talk . . . or is he just faking?
He looks cute-- until he ruins your good Italian leather boots.

She carries him around like a baby and he has a wardrobe that is nicer than mine. The big fat slobbery doo-doo head, drooled a puddle on and then scratched my good boots. (You know I'm talking about the dog, right?) Plus my little fidanzato doesn't like Romeo because he bites his feet and we lovebirds prefer to sit with out legs extended while we watch our cartoons, so there. So knowing it might be blog worthy, and because I was a little drunk with exhaustion after T's birthday party, I did go out of my way to get the sister-in-law a joke gift from the overly expensive and extravagant, completely pink pet store near Piazza Grande. I could have gone to the ordinary pet store with the thousand cages of birds and hamsters and baby bunnies whose floor is littered with bird seeds and is noisy and dirty and has a rather unhappy, elderly couple in charge, but that would not have been as good of  a blog post.
She is holding the golden wallet. I am hiding under the coffee table.

Where's K? I don't know she disappeared when we brought out the cake . . .

"I hate when my feet get bitten for no good reason." Don't worry, honey, K is on the case.

I love this grandma's cookies! She is my Angelina Jolie.

All bad ass bloggers have tractors  .. . See the pink pet store bag: snazzy!
Instead, I purposely went to the hoity toity pink pet store and  soon realized that, as much as I love you readers, I was not going to spend eighty five euro on a leather bomber jacket for Romeo.  So based on the advice of the nice man, whose wife we came to find out is pregnant, we chose to give the sister-in-law a golden, leather, wallet that holds the bags for picking up the poop/ ca-ca. I lost steam in the actual moment of gift giving and did not give the party girl a double-cheeked kiss or ask her how she liked it, as I had planned. Instead I sort of slunk off to the other side of the house. But first I forced F to take a ton of pictures! I've got your back, blog readers.

Arrivederci, Brooklyn!

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