Towards Domestic Bliss, to be sure

At the end of the very hot and steamy day yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to recline and chill out.  I couldn't think of anything worse than joining the roller-bladers and joggers along Lake Michigan, even though the view (of the Lake and the athletes both) was very inviting.

Taking Preston for a walk around the block, up to the shops for a Diet Coke, then back towards the apartment, we encountered two very young children standing outside their apartment with their dad.  On seeing Preston, the squeals of delight began, and they waddled up to him, with their pudgy fingers outstretched, ready to commence patting him (aka smacking him on the head).

I don't know whether Preston had ever encountered young kids before, so I was very wary.  But I made sure the Dad thought it was okay, and I kept a tight hold on Preston just in case.  But the lazy slob just laid down, rolled over, and exposed his belly for a big scratching.  The kids happily obliged.  As I was crouched down to position myself well enough to scoop Preston up if he misbehaved, one of the kids even sat on me and held my hand, while he smacked Preston "gently gently" with his other chubby hand.  And Preston smiled and wagged his tail all the while.

I dragged the reluctant puppy inside the apartment, put on my pyjama pants, and settled in for the night on the sofa.  Our new Irish room mate Emma hungrily agreed to our suggestion for "Oodles of Noodles" (or "Ooda of Nooda", as the lady at the shop calls it on purpose when I ring now).  And so it was that we sat at home, stuffing our faces with take-out and watching "Old School" on DVD, in front of two fans blasting semi-cool air all over us.  This is the life, to be sure.