Hello, Monday.

It could potentially turn out to be a very unpleasant day, when...

...you stumble out of bed, all sweaty-soggy and sticky because of this godforsaken midwestern summer's humidity... and you're barely awake and still real, real tired, but you get up anyway, and you walk towards the bathroom... and you think you see something... and you do.... and it happens to be the most GIANT pile of DOG PUKE you believe you've ever seen in your life. And it's on the carpet, even though the tile is but four inches away. And you're suspect that it was there before Husband left for work, because it looks "older" or at least older than 6:40 a.m. which is when you're seeing it. And you nearly trip down the stairs getting the precious commodity Viva paper towels to sop it up, but it doesn't sop. It just sort of comes up in one gloopy puke sheet, and you're sort of thankful that it's not fresh because it comes up easily, but then you realize that's stupid because it's puke and it was on the carpet for a long time and has left a glowing brown puke haze in its place, and Husband probably walked over it a dozen times before leaving for work at 6 a.m. But the carpet is blue and gross anyway so you decide you don't care because it's Monday and Monday deserves puke on the carpet sometimes.

And then you start your day. But you wish you would've trained your dog better, like this...