tails of the city
I took the Metro home from work tonight and, woefully underdressed for the 38-degree evening, decided to stop at Cosi for hot coffee to fortify me for the 15-minute walk home. I was probably about 20 steps out of the store, ready to turn down 19th Street, when this gigantic -- when I say gigantic, I mean absolutely insanely unbelievably gigantic -- dog bounds around the corner and slams into me. Puts its paws on my shoulders, literally, and sticks its huge doggie face into mine. I spill half of a very large coffee, complete with milk and Equal, onto its back.

The dog's owner comes around the corner, chasing after it with a leash, and begins apologizing profusely. (Because this is my life and not a Meg Ryan movie, the owner is a graying man who is at least old enough to be my father and wearing a rainbow flag pin on his coat besides. Figures.) I, in turn, am also apologizing profusely about spilling coffee all over his dog which, in the meantime, is hopping up and down with unfettered joy. His mammoth horse-sized head is swinging to and fro. His monstrous tail easily would have taken out any passing compact car. His paws could have trampled children or small adults. A non-dog person would have been horrified, but, of course, I loved it, despite the loss of most of my coffee. I really think the universe is trying to tell me something if random dogs are singling me out like this. Can I have a puppy for Chanukah? Please?