The point is knucklehead, I care!

I felt horrible before I went to work, worse when I got there and barely coherent when I got home. G and I passed in the breezway, so I didn't say anything, and he didn't ask. Plus it is hard to have any sort to exchange with two barking dogs and an insanely cheerful Monkey. Monkey and I muddled through the morning and I managed to get him on the bus. I promptly drug myself and crawl into bed. I wake up to our canine home protection system being set off. Sgt. G has come home to find something he forgot this morning. No big deal until I hear some other guy talking to the dogs. Great, I can't remember what the kitchen looks like, but it's probably not pretty. G comes into the bedroom and realizes that I am sick- and look it. I tell him where the thing is he wants so he will quit tearing up the house. He tells me to just stay in bed. Thanks. I get up later and survey the kitchen. Sure enough, the remnants of Monkey's and my lunch are still out on the table, there are dishes stacked up in the sink and for some reason, a towel on the floor. (that would be Monkey, for some reason he likes to have one while he is eating breakfast; for spills??? and usually he steals the hand towel, but obviously couldn't find one so he drug a bath towel out) I call G to find out what was going on. "oh, it was just Miller. He doesn't care"Are all guys this clueless? I guess it is time for the talk about calling before bringing people home again. It's not just so I have time to kick the boyfriend out before you get here.