It's Getting Hot in Here

I have been feeling pretty blah lately.  The weather is changing, and my body is in revolt.  I woke up today with a pounding headache, and a last minute call from my husband reminding me of the veterinarian appointment for my youngest furry frienemy.  I threw on an old sweatshirt, baggy jeans (not to brag, but all my jeans are baggy due to the diet), and the cat in the carrier and off we went.  We get to the veterinarian's office and, truth be told, it was nicer than my house.  I waited in the lobby, along with 15 desperate housewives who seemed to have perfectly normal pets.  I got called back with my cat.  And as I sat there, I just wanted to get in, get out and go hit up the people doctor. 
Then, Dr. Handsome McHotpants walked waltzed into my life.  He opened the door and seemed to have floated in on a cloud.  Instantly, I wanted to go back into time to put on some makeup and a halter dress.  Or, at the very least, I wish I would have brushed my hair.  It is hard to be witty and attractive while holding your cat as the hot vet puts a thermometer up your cat's butt.  No, it isn't hard.  It is impossible.  It isn't like I am going to hook up with him, but just because I am married doesn't mean I am dead!  We discussed why my cat has chosen to show how much he hates me by peeing on my side of the bed.  Dr. Hot Vet said that the cat may not like my particular scent.  To which I replied, "So, you are telling me I smell like a litter box?"  It is a good thing I am married, I am terrible in those situations.  I definitely need to get Mr. Cutthroat a veterinarian uniform.