Scrub-a-dub-dub. Mutt's in the tub.

The madre is coming to visit this week, so The Boy and I spent today scrubbing our abode from head to toe. Or, more appropriately, from ceiling fan to base board.

Even the mutt got her thrice-yearly bath in anticipation of the big visit. But, given her freaky aversion to the bathtub, (but not Lake Michigan. WTF?) she wasn't 100 percent thrilled about her involuntary participation in the day of making it appear as though we don't live with dust demons. (Ahhhh. Artifice. How I love thee.)

Anyway, Macy Mae exacted her revenge on us doggie style. (Eds: Snicker.)

She flew out of the bathroom like her ass was on fire, and ran batshit around the condo for a good 10 minutes, plowing every inch of wet _ yet subtly oatmeal-scented _ fur on the carpets, sofa and in between our sheets.

Guess it's true. Payback is a bitch.