French Bulldog

Walking to the mailbox counts as my cardio for the week, so temper your expectations accordingly. I'll pant dramatically after crossing one room. Please clap anyway.

I have the resting face of someone furious about brunch reservations. Underneath that I'm, and I cannot stress this enough, extremely delighted at all times. My snoring has its own zip code.

My squashed little face means breathing is basically a part time job, so walks happen at dawn, dusk, or not at all in this heat. Some of us need airway surgery eventually, so insurance isn't optional, it's basically a relationship requirement. I promise I'm worth the paperwork.

You think 'active' means strolling from the sofa to the fridge and back. My snoring should register as white noise to you, not a burglar alarm. And you've already priced pet insurance, which honestly, respect.

I've fallen asleep standing up. I've also fallen asleep mid bark. Both are personal records I'm weirdly proud of.

Swipe right. I'm grumpy looking, secretly delighted, and living my best life regardless of how ridiculous it looks.