The folks at Facebook Corporate must not be carnivores.
That´s just a wild guess based on my latest encounter with them in the guise of trying to add images to my FB shop.
Take the item below I was trying to upload, for instance…
I realize they believe it´s their Most Solemn Responsibility to make sure the rest of the us do what is right and go green, but there is no freaking way in heck I ´ll be giving up my fried chicken any time soon. Good luck with that one, MZ.
The half-bath room is right in line with the back door. It has one sink and a toilet. Alex has to walk through there with Marla to Kevin’s office where the back door is to take Marla out for her daily potty breaks. (Our entire Flock of Flurrkins likes to park right on the concrete stoop, immediately in front of the back door, but that’s another highly entertaining story for another time.) I was just in that bathroom right in the middle of cleaning the toilet with some good-old-fashioned dish soap and bleach (my grandma’s tried-and-true recipe for cleaning everything), giving it a good scrubbing with all of the accompanying soapy bubbles going everywhere, when Alex and Marla noisily came back in the house through the back door and were in the office directly behind me ready to squeeze through the little bathroom and on into the rest of the house. Marla has a rather unfortunate bad habit…when she returns from her Great Adventure Outdoors, she’s quite thirsty. That white porcelain toilet bowl is right at her height and looks like the Perfect Refreshing Font of Thirst-Quenching Goodness for a hot dog. And Marla has frequently, noisily and messily availed herself of its permanent and open availability before we can catch her. (When certain short humans around here use it, they never remember to put the lid down. I’m not going to comment on whether they remember to flush or not.) I looked back over my shoulder, and Marla was bee-lining it for the watery bowl with a very interested look on her face. “Oh, no, you don’t, Marla!” I told her, planting myself firmly in her path with my soapy toilet brush held aloft like a scepter to reinforce the command in my Presence and tone (because I am the Queen of the Throne, dontcha know). Just in time, Alex realized what was about to happen and said she’d take Marla into the rest of the house through the laundry room. Pulling Marla behind her, while Marla determinedly pulled against her in the opposite direction toward the toilet, Alex redirected a very reluctant dog into the house via another, less disgusting route. I made a mental note to myself to remember to flush the toilet really well and put the lid down, just in case.