Foushta!

So Bosley has developed this totally amusing and slightly annoying habit of never allowing anyone else to have the last word. No, really. If we command him to stop barking at the fat cat outside or speak sharply to discipline him, he does this hilarious grumble, grumble, bark, bark, grumble right back at us. I have no idea why he does this. He's at that teenage state of Great Dane development so I'm guessing he's reached his sassy age. It goes something like this.

Me: Quiet!
Bosley: Bark!
Me: No! Don't bark at Mama!
Bosley: Bark!
Me: Look here, Sassyfrass! Don't talk back to me!
Bosley: Grumble. Grumble. Bark.

And then he'll dramatically throw himself onto the floor and sigh loudly or snort at me.

Dave and I were struck by how much his behavior mirrors that of Dr. Van Helsing (aka Mel Brook) in Dracula! Dead and Loving It! You know that scene where Van Helsing and Dracula are trying to get the last word? Yeah. It's like that.

"Foushta!"



*Baby update: Had another visit today. I'm now 3 centimeters dilated and the baby is fully engaged. I'm still having a mix of Braxton-Hicks and holy-crap-that-effing-hurts contractions. Doc A estimates the baby won't make her debut for another week or so. My mommy is heading this way sometime next week.

Oh, and Dave is nesting. No really. He's cleaning carpets on Wednesday and changing linens. The man has lost his ever-lovin' mind. The extent of my nesting? Noticing the dust on the coffee table but being too damn tired to roll off the couch to do anything about it.