I was too excited to wait for Billy to get home to pick it up, so I packed up the twins and the pug and hit the road. Pick-up was 30 minutes away which I thought would be perfect - an hour of babies sleeping, relaxing time for me. But of course, I forgot the directions. And then I got a bit lost. As I was getting my bearings, praying the babies don't wake up with all the stopping and starting, the dog started crying - ya, you read it right. The dog. W...T...F, Lola?? Well, that cry, in pug-speak, means "I have to go pee, NOW!" And since I'm a totally unprepared douche bag, I didn't have a leash for her. She didn't even have her collar on. Ya, I'm a winner.
Luckily, I found a little side street with just empty-looking office buildings with some grass in front. I pulled over and let the pug out. She immediately peed but then ran off, collarless, right onto the street. The abandoned office building was not quite abandoned and the workers inside were looking at me like I was some kind of asshole (the retarded, incompetent kind, I assume). While I did not have a leash, I did think to bring one of her toys, a squeaky one at that, and coaxed her back to the car with it. Runaway/roadkill crisis averted.
I found the street. Found the house. Paid the nice lady and rearranged every last thing in the car (inclduing the stroller that, if I had half a brain, i would have taken out before leaving) to fit in the exersaucer. We drove home in bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic on the way home. And here is the thanks I get for all my troubles: