Okay, so this is one of those things that makes me go hmmm? It also makes me seek first aid.
I need to express a grievance, but I’m having trouble putting it into words, mainly because we don’t speak the same language. Could you please refrain from making kissy noises when I am riding my bike with my dog in tow. The last couple times I have taken my dog for a bike ride you have been in the garage next door, cleaning. Though I have not assessed their garage, I don’t recall it being so dirty, but I digress.
You seem to find my dog attractive, and have a habit of calling him in a lip smacking “come ‘ere boy” kind of chant. Has it not dawned on you that I am on my bike and attached to my dog by a leash when you trying to woo him to you? Do you remember the first time you commented and made that kissy sound? When he pulled me off to run in your direction and I was writhing in pain on the cement? I know I don’t speak Spanish, thanks for nothin’ Rosetta Stone, but is falling off a bike and being dragged across the asphalt not a universal sign of distress? Like the tile that you often see on the side of the shallow end of the pool where a man is diving and much to his dismay has cracked his head on the bottom. That picture clearly implies that there is No Diving, no matter what language you speak. You are like some sick person who would push small children into the shallow end, aren’t you? Why do I speak so harshly of you when I don’t even know you? I’ll tell you why, because today you did it again.