This is the bottom of my poor, poor door.
Note my fine typing paper patch job, as well as bloody glass. It was a bad scene.
Thursday
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I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.
5 comments:
Mack ate the door frame off of my parents' apartment in Nashville a few years ago. He really, really, really had had enough of being left alone.
Wow - he really did mess up your door - eek!!
Looks like Norman Bates was whacking at your door with his great, big, bloody knife. Brrrr!
I hope you can fix it! It is a great door. You are *such* a good friend to have helped out with the dog.
I am not half as a good a friend as the guy who owns the dog is to me. He's priceless. Oneof my fave people and SO good to me.
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