Ass Maggots

I woke up Monday morning to find my sheets peppered with what looked like long-grain wild rice, but ultimately turned out to be dead tapeworm larvae. At the foot of the bed, looking at me with one eye and presumably the bedroom closet with the other, was my girlfriend’s new mangy, cross-eyed, flea-riddled, tapeworm-infested, pee-drinking, might-as-well-be-a-cat, dog.

When I was a kid I found a dead frog in my pool. I sealed it in an airtight coffee can and buried it in the backyard. The next summer, with equal parts morbid curiosity and solid dimness, I dug it back up. Until I met my girlfriend’s new dog, that frog was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.

My girlfriend loves her, though, so she’s a permanent resident. She’s really not so bad. I think she knows how rough she is aesthetically, and works hard to make up for it by exuding winning personality traits that include, but are not limited to running full-speed into walls. Besides, she and I have this great game we play wherein I look at her and say, “What crawled out of your ass and died?” Then I laugh and laugh and laugh, while she tries to piece together what she did wrong in life to end up where she is.