Light at the End of (Grandma's) Tunnel

At the end of a 17 hour work day, I am looking for a little light at the end of the tunnel!  My eyes feel like four week old grapes and I really need a haircut (I trust my golden locks to Malin at Luxe Lab in LA.  She is so good and more importantly a great conversationalist and fashion expert).  It's getting baaaadd.  My dog also needs a wash.    

Wait.  What dog?  I sensed a little canine hole in my husband's heart lately, so I made what is known as a "marital compromise" and allowed a dog to enter our lives.  When I married Christopher I said, "We will never own any pets so you can toss that idea out along with your Hamburger Helper!"  We now own two sinister cats and one dog.  What happened!?!!?  The funniest reaction is when friends ask me what kind of dog.  I just have to say English Mastiff and the laughter starts.  The kind of laughter that starts in a low deep tone like a muscle car starting its engine and revs up to a loud "Whoa!  Really!?"  I respond, "Yes.  What's so funny?"  The very question is met with more laughing.  People would not suspect that I would own a dog, let alone a dog whose doggy genetics dictate a future pony-like stature.

Owning a dog presents a real pickle when it comes to nicknames.  For quite some time I have lovingly referred to my husband as "Puppy."  Now people will be even more confused!
Tonight as I edited through pictures from a recent wedding, trying to drown out the sound of Puppy, I mean the future pony, I stumbled across this little gem.  This picture fills me with unmitigated joy.  I started laughing in a low deep muscle car tone.  I had found my light at the end of the tunnel, and chances are Grandma found her light too.               

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