I do not torture or beat my dog with the vacuum cleaner. But you'd never know it by his reaction to it.
Right now, I am sitting in the recliner, silently cursing Ben for not packing. I think he has started the job, but I am uber-stressed about tomorrow's agenda, so him being slightly not-done-yet is giving me an excuse for my high-strung-edness.
Itinerary for tomorrow: work in the morning, since I have way way way too much to do and probably should not be justifiably taking a vacation. Work until 11:45 and then rush to pick up the kids and meet Ben at home to pick up the dog. Hopefully arrive at my dad's at or near 3pm to drop off the kids for their Gma & Gpa Parker vacay. Rush to friend's in Broad Ripple to unload the dog for his week of training. Race to the airport for our evening flight to Vegas, layover in Denver. Arrive at Vegas at 10:30ish Vegas time (which sounds like some sort of alternate dimension, it just feels like they have to measure time differently in Vegas) and collapse into our hotel room probably around midnight.
Last time I was in Vegas, I was roughly 14 years old, with my dad and sisters. I distinctly remember entering the casinos, which was legal, as long as we walked straight to the snack bar without stopping.
As for Ben, the farthest west he has been is St. Louis, as he regularly reminds me. Compared to him, I am quite the worldly traveler. I am very much looking forward to our desert vacation. The two of us have been absolute tornados of stress lately, so I think this is just what we need.
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