sorry i couldn't make it to your birthday dinks

Because my sweet little Boo started convulsing and gasping for breath and licking the carpet/floor/electrical sockets frantically and then threw up a half gallon of barley and balloon fragments! And while this was happening I didn't know what to do so I ran between my computer (googling "How to make a dog throw up" and "NYC emergency vets") and my camping equipment where I knew I had stashed an expired bottle of hydrogen peroxide in some old first aid kit! Then I rushed him to the 24-hour emergency vet clinic in Carroll Gardens! Where there was one nice lezzie receptionist and five MILLION MEAN ASSHOLES! Where me and Boo and Stephanie and David waited for 90 minutes even though we were the only people there and Boo was still convulsing!

Poor little dog. By the time the bitchy vet came down to inspect Boo ("Johnson Avenue? I used to live in Williamsburg but I've never heard of Johnson Avenue"), he was asleep, and I had finished the 300-page vanity book of handwritten love letters New Yorkers had written to their pets, and had written one to Boo, beginning, "Dearest, dearest Boo."

Anyway, that's why I couldn't make it to your birthday party. I'm really sorry!