Puppies.
"You?"
"Yes."
"You?"
"Yes."
"That's huge! You're, like, a mother. You're, like, married! Omigod! *long pause* Hang on. You?"
__________
"Babe," he said, with his arm slung around me as we walked to the bar. "How about we get a puppy?"
I sort of sputtered rainwater. It was beautiful. "A puppy? The small furry kind that eats shoes and books?"
"A puppy. Yes."
"I think you could have a puppy, and be a wonderful parent. But me? As well? Really, really not so much. I'm mean, I have a bipolar bitch scale and I'd have to murder it if it chewed any of my things." There was a long pause, which I decided to fill before his thought process reached the, My girlfriend really is slightly odd, stage. "Oh come on. No court would convict me."
"How can you not like puppies?"
"Of course I like puppies. But from a distance. In fact, I feel every partybash should come with a puppy, just so the host doesn't feel obliged to keep the person sitting by themself on the couch company. And so they have something to keep them looking occupied, keeping people from thinking they're socially inept. And holding a puppy would make someone more approachable, I guess... But actually, thinking about it, I'm not sure I'd advise cuddling a puppy on the couch for the whole evening if you're just after sex. I mean, a puppy is a very, well, easy child substitute. Semantics." I said, swiping at the rainwater inching its way down my nose. "If you want a puppy, get one. I might even babysit from time to time, but... we cannot get a dog. I mean, I'm not sure there's enough We for that. There's definitely not enough Me, but I'm pretty sure there's enough You."
He smiled at me and tugged at a straggling piece of hair. "Are we here again?"
"No, this isn't me locking you out. But, a pet? Please. I can't see myself as ever a dog owner. You'll have to find some other way to satisfy your paternal urges. Or you can come to grips with the idea of it being just your dog. But I guess that would make you a single parent, which I hear is tough."
He pushed the hair back behind my ear where rain drenched hair belongs.
"Ah," I said. "You've already paid for the thing, haven't you?"
"Sure have, doll."
Pause.
"Oh, right, fine. Call it Manet."
"Yes."
"You?"
"Yes."
"That's huge! You're, like, a mother. You're, like, married! Omigod! *long pause* Hang on. You?"
__________
"Babe," he said, with his arm slung around me as we walked to the bar. "How about we get a puppy?"
I sort of sputtered rainwater. It was beautiful. "A puppy? The small furry kind that eats shoes and books?"
"A puppy. Yes."
"I think you could have a puppy, and be a wonderful parent. But me? As well? Really, really not so much. I'm mean, I have a bipolar bitch scale and I'd have to murder it if it chewed any of my things." There was a long pause, which I decided to fill before his thought process reached the, My girlfriend really is slightly odd, stage. "Oh come on. No court would convict me."
"How can you not like puppies?"
"Of course I like puppies. But from a distance. In fact, I feel every partybash should come with a puppy, just so the host doesn't feel obliged to keep the person sitting by themself on the couch company. And so they have something to keep them looking occupied, keeping people from thinking they're socially inept. And holding a puppy would make someone more approachable, I guess... But actually, thinking about it, I'm not sure I'd advise cuddling a puppy on the couch for the whole evening if you're just after sex. I mean, a puppy is a very, well, easy child substitute. Semantics." I said, swiping at the rainwater inching its way down my nose. "If you want a puppy, get one. I might even babysit from time to time, but... we cannot get a dog. I mean, I'm not sure there's enough We for that. There's definitely not enough Me, but I'm pretty sure there's enough You."
He smiled at me and tugged at a straggling piece of hair. "Are we here again?"
"No, this isn't me locking you out. But, a pet? Please. I can't see myself as ever a dog owner. You'll have to find some other way to satisfy your paternal urges. Or you can come to grips with the idea of it being just your dog. But I guess that would make you a single parent, which I hear is tough."
He pushed the hair back behind my ear where rain drenched hair belongs.
"Ah," I said. "You've already paid for the thing, haven't you?"
"Sure have, doll."
Pause.
"Oh, right, fine. Call it Manet."
Labels: Domestication, Urban Trauma
posted by Imogen @ 8:31 pm
3 Comments:
At 25 February, 2007 18:21 ,
Anonymous said...
Mwahahahahahahaaahahaha.
Glorious. Does he not know you at all?
xxxxx
At 26 February, 2007 01:00 ,
Megan said...
puppies are work. they are cute, but they become far less cute when they cry all night and defecate on the kitchen floor.
i have come to the decision recently that i don't think i want to get another puppy any time soon.. i just want all my friends to get puppies so that i can come and go and play with them as i please.
At 27 February, 2007 04:48 ,
Anonymous said...
I won't lie, puppies are a lot of work. But if you stick it out and train it, it'll be lovely. I don't really care for other people's kids or other people's dogs. But I love mine. Every time someone runs over to fawn all over him and he gives them an indifferent "fuck off" look, I sort of smile inside and think, "he is SO my dog."
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