You. All. BUCKLE UP. I have an “Ashley-only” type of story to share with you, the kind that seems unbelievable, that involves like 900 seemingly unrelated parts, but still.. somehow ends up related, disturbing, and sort of hilarious. I’m actually super proud of this particular story, because while it’s absolutely Ashley-esque, Matt is the protagonist of this particular scenario. My outrageousness is rubbing off and there’s no one I’d rather share it with. Bless his precious soul. 😉
So, to start: last week, the dogs had a stomach bug, a butt bug really. Poop was running rampant in our house. You really never realize how much 3 dogs can shit, until they’re all shitting their brains out nonstop. Like 6 months ago, I had bought a white rug for our living room (which LOL what was I thinking?!). This rug became a favorite spot for bowel emptying. It was quite literally shittastic. So much so, that we ultimately decided to just trash the entire thing.
Matt, being a real trooper, carries it out to the trash and gets the cans set up for pick up the next day.
Fun fact: apparently garbage day recently changed. We keep getting letters from our trash collectors, but Matt and I are in agreement… surely they do not actually need to talk to us. TO THE TRASH THEY GO.
Hint: you may miss important updates like CHANGED trash days, if you continue to ignore their correspondence efforts. 🤣Whatever. We figured we missed a day and had some weird national holiday on Monday or something and the trash would be picked up.. eventually. It was of little to no consequence, we just needed the shit rug ELSEWHERE. 💩
Next up, Friday. I have work, like a lot of work. It’s an overwhelming and busy day, and I have to head straight to KC for a bachelorette party after work. Due to the busyness and my inability to manage stress well, I decide that I don’t want to get up from my desk too long for lunch. So I ordered Panera and have it delivered. I have the app that lets you monitor the order progression and updates you when your order is delivered.
So.. I’m watching the order get closer and closer. Then all of a sudden, it is marked delivered. ZERO PANERA WAS DELIVERED. I was stressed out and took it as a sign that I didn’t need the lunch break. But not before calling them and chewing them out for failing to deliver to the right address.
A few hours later, I get to KC. bachelorette Saturday. Side note: took a pole dancing class. That is not a missed calling me for me 😳. This is actually strangely reassuring to know.
Saturday night I get a text from Matt that said: “I didn’t appreciate how I discovered it, but you ordered Panera. You should have told me, I would have at least ate it.” He thought I drunkenly ordered Panera at this bachelorette party and failed to have it delivered to my location.
but no, I IMMEDIATELY realize my Friday Panera… was delivered to the house NOT the office. 🤦🏻♀️ also this was two days ago. The odor. 🤢
Given his text, I assumed that he stepped in it to be honest. He always has friends over to jam and as we know, NEVER LOOKS AT THE DOOR MAT, so I honestly thought someone stepped in my stinky soup and that was that. I kind of thought it was funny. I do the laundry. It was going to be FINE.
WRONG. Turns out our neighbors either like us more than we were lead to believe.. or they’re super nosy. Apparently, the trash can still on the sidewalk, the two day old Panera on the porch, and my missing truck had stirred up some nerves.
No, no Matt did not step in my soup. He was greeted at the door by SWAT, with the battering ram, about to bust down our front door.
They call this a “wellness check”. 😬. Turns out, when Matt has his headphones on, he can’t hear anything, like knocking or “POLICE” being screamed around our house. Our dogs, bless their souls, were appalled by the turn of events. They were trying to dive through the windows at the cops “sneaking around our house”. Protection level 900 purportedly looks very similar to “our owners are dead and we have consumed their bodies”.
So, like .0032 seconds before they bust down our door, and “neutralize our dogs” (which I am pretending just means give them treats and snuggles, instead of what I know that means), Matt gets a text from our next door neighbor to see if “everything is alright because there are cops all over our yard, casing the place”. Matt is none the wiser, he’s been in his musician world, and just noticed the dogs were barking “excessively”. Matt RUNS upstairs, talks to the police, and resolves the issue.
He did tell them that this is why I can never leave town, and they were VERY interested to know where I was, if we were fighting, and if he had killed me. 😅. These cops really thought they were coming up on the newest episode of forensic files. I may have to call tomorrow and assure everyone that I am alive and well.
All the while, I’m in KC, pole-dancing (badly), trying gross wine, and blissfully unaware. But still lowkey pissed about my Panera never showing up on Friday.
Don’t worry, I’ll be calling Panera tomorrow to pay for my meal again. 🙈. But my Lord, all that drama for a bowl of soup!
On a more positive note: it’s nice to know we have someone keeping an eye on us in our neighborhood. I think if I figure out who called.. I’ll just give them my cell number.
Sunny daze ahead sweet friends, stay alive. 🌞🤪