February

I arrive home early because of the dinner planned for tonight. Grover is whining for attention, so I pick him up for a cuddle on the couch, more than willing to give him the affection he's seeking. Grover isn't usually a cuddly dog; in fact, he's more like a cat in that he tends to ignore me unless he needs something. And, just like a cat, after about ten minutes of getting what he wants, he hops down from the couch and goes to his bed.

Without any enthusiasm, I enter the closet to look through the dresses I might wear tonight. The peach dress haunts me; it's hanging...