Battery Dog... NOT!

I’ve always been proud of my dog.
Everyone loves Buono. He’s like a teddy bear… but from the canine breed.
All white hair, plushy and soft. He’s also really intelligent (when he wants to be) and looks at you like if he’s having a conversation:  concentrated on what you’re saying.
Our German guests have been making fun of him and since Friday, Buono has received a new nick name: the battery dog.

-          Where is the off-switch? – they ask me – Is there an App to remotely control him?

-          There’s an App for that! – they say all proud of their wittiness – I control Buono from my iPhone seated in the couch.

Ha.
Ha.
Ha.

I am outraged over this. The private joke goes around daily and all I do is defend my dog.
And Buono is not helping because when they joke about him, he just moves his tail and jumps around: likes he enjoys being the center of attention!

Plueze.. don’t help me that much.

I have a plan of attack though: when the Buono App joke appears into the discussion, I’ll just play dumb, but when they’re out and about buying all of New York to fit on their overflowing bags, Buono will be rolling around their beds, playing with his toys over the pillows or pooping all over the balcony so they can’t go out and take some fresh air.

I’ll make sure he gets his revenge. Count on it.

The battery dog will become the revenge dog, and of course there’s an App for that: ME!

Dominican style

My husband and I went to the airport to pick up some friends that came from Germany to visit the big apple.

One thing that we’ve learned during these past three years is that visitors enter the country with light weight luggage and small suitcases; but leave it with overweighted bags and lots of small stuffs hanging from every possible place.
Most importantly, they wear a lot of clothes on them: to make the travel weight of their baggages more efficient. It doesn’t matter if it’s 30°C degrees outside; they wear jackets and coats like its winter.

Our surprise came when at the arrival of our friends, we realized they had four bags and all of them were really heavy. They hadn’t even started the shopping spree yet, but they were already doomed for overweight charges.
We tried to get everything in our car, but our efforts were futile and we ended up all crammed inside like in a sardine can.

Dominican style!

That’s how we referred to the situation, being that in my husband’s home country, the public transportation is performed by these small, crappy, old cars, that carry five people (minimum), and you have to force yourself inside and pray to god the door will close and you’ll arrive to your destination safe and sound.

 Our car is not small - in comparison to the Dominican ‘conchos’ - but the over stacking of luggage, plus passengers, added to all the knick and knacks they were carrying, we ended up arriving with cramps and back pains, all thanks to the uncomfortable positions we withheld for the forty-five minutes ride to our home.

Bengay and Icy-Hot for me.
Regards from an invalid hostess with a whole week ahead of moaning and bitching about the nuisances of Dominican style traveling.