Small Fluffy Things, or I am My Own Worst Enemy

Has anybody else seen the show on Animal Planet called “Too Cute”?  It really is, too, too cute.  It comes with a cuteness disclaimer and everything.  Basically, it follows around a couple of families whose pets have recently had puppies/kittens/bunnies/hedgehogs etc.  They perform their tiny little furry antics, and the girls and I ooh and ahh.

Especially me.

This resulted in a trip to Petsmart, “just to look”.  That only stoked the fires of mammalian desire. The girls wanted a guinea pig.  The girls wanted a bunny.  The girls wanted something small and furry and probably stinky.

And, heaven help me, so do I.

It’s pretty easy to for me to tell the girls “no”.  Is that bad? You want a new My Little Pony and you’ve already spent your allowance? Tough.  You want an overpriced pair of slippers that you saw on a commercial (while watching “My Little Pony”)? Put it on your wish list and let Santa/The Easter Bunny deal with it.  But when it’s something that I want, too, well…..that’s a whole ‘nother story.

I have three children.  One husband.  Two dogs.  Two cats.  One could safely say that, in many ways, my hands are full.  But there’s something about me that almost craves the chaos.  The very moment that things in my life seem to be reaching a state of relative calm, I seek ways to rock the boat.  I am my own worst enemy.  And the current plot to destroy the sea of calm comes in the form of tiny, furry bodies.

Would it be the absolute worst thing in the world if, say, the Easter Bunny were to casually drop off two guinea pigs and accompanying habitats on Easter morning?  Or would I find myself holding back from murdering said guinea pigs days later?

My name is Jennifer.  I’m a Chaosaholic.

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