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| He appears innocent, but you're looking at a tactical pee assassin. |
My dog thinks I am an absent father. He is showing all the textbook signs of teenage rebellion--though last I checked human teens don't express their displeasure by relieving themselves on their dad's dry cleaning. I must admit that it's an effective form of inter-species communication, but I'm running out of sweaters...
And it's not just the dog.
The auto-mailer at Facebook seems to be worried that I've died. I keep getting emails asking passive-aggressive questions about why I haven't updated my page recently (I think after two weeks of inactivity they start "poking" your next of kin). The new message light on my office phone is flashing with the urgency of an S.O.S. beacon, my expired list of Outlook reminders is about the length of the fourth Twilight novel (and reads at a similar pace), and my email inbox is stuffed with more time-sensitive information than a government intelligence leak.
It must be travel season.
