Saturday, 12:30pm.

I’ve been awake for a solid hour and a half — it’s only 12:30, stop judging — and I’m “folding” laundry. Most of which is made of a blend of synthetic materials that stretch regardless of my weight so folding it is more an act of creating balls of black fabric on the bed.

Insert: 45-lb insane cattle dog.

“Git off my piles…” I scold with signature apathy then return to my clothes project. Reaching into the clothes basket I produce a pair of black lace panties. Turning back to my very unorganized little piles of now dog-fur covered cleanish clothes I have an idea “I could put these on the dog.” I’ve now said this aloud to the dog so I can’t disappoint.

Why on earth would anyone in their right mind think that let alone try that?

Because I’m fucking weird, that’s why.

But also because I’ve been successful with past dog-dressing endeavors. She’s worn an apron, quite proudly:

A racerback tank top:

A cowboy costume:

A sports bra:

And almost a pair of green shorts. (The shorts did not work out. There were a few issues involving my size being larger than her size, belts, cinching, growling and biting.)

Back to the panties. The next logical step is to enlist help. “DAAAAAAVE!!!” My husband knows when I yell his name with urgency not to hurry at all. I wait a good 7 minutes for him to arrive, lock-eyed with the dog, gripping my own panties.

“What?” Sigh.

“We’re going to put THESE on the DOG!”

“This sounds like it’s going to involve a lot of me getting bit by the dog and doing all the work.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Herrrumph. Okay.” He gives in only because he knows the pitch of my voice is slightly worse than getting bit by a dog that closely resembles a dingo.

Here’s a tip, and a very important one: dogs have tails. And if you have a dog without a tail then you have your own set of problems that I don’t even want to know about. This particular tail was not considered until the project was well underway. So while my husband stood at the edge of the bed with the dog’s front paws on his shoulders, her mouth snarled to show her teeth, getting growled at in the ear I stepped back and tried to determine if our dog dressed right or dressed left. These are the problems we deal with.

In the end here’s what I learned about dressing your very bitey dog in you own lace panties:

• Outcome: sexy dog.
• When you post your sexy dog all over Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest you will inevitably get a lot of likes.
  • One question to ask yourself: are the likers of these photos really people you want to be associating with?
  • Another question to ask yourself: have you been out of the house lately?
• Get your dog some mace. Now that she’s so sexy, the mailman’s going to be all over her.
• Do not expect to wear your panties again without an itchy, extra furry crotch. (Oh, you washed them first, well good for fucking you but I had somewhere to be.)

Would I suggest dressing your dog in your underwear? If your desired result of scratching and growling and teeth-bearing mixed with an ample amount of general sadness is a Spicy Dingo, then yes. Go for it.