My best friend Amy and I traditionally take each other shopping at Victoria’s Secret for Christmas. We love treating each other to something pretty around the holidays, and spending the time together shopping is a great gift in itself — especially now that she lives in Boston and we don’t get to see each other more than once or twice a year.
This year, Amy stayed in Boston for Christmas, so we delayed our Chrismtas shopping until she came to town yesterday. We had a very successful shopping trip — turns out VS has a much better selection around Valentine’s day than around Christmas — and as we were checking out with each other’s gifts we got into a conversation with the sales woman about how we do this together every year, we were late this year because Amy wasn’t home, etc. I’m not sure what we said that made the sales woman suspicious, but it soon became clear she was trying to figure us out. It was pretty obvious she thought we might be girlfriends (in the non-platonic sense), and she really wanted to find out for sure without coming right out and asking. She oh-so-casually (but so not casually at all) asked, “So, are you guys sisters…? Cousins…?”
“No,” we told her. “We’ve been best friends since pre-school.” This, however, was not the clarifying answer she was looking for. We could see the gears turning as she speculated about when our friendship may have blossomed into something more.
I was highly amused by the whole situation, but Amy took pity on the poor, confused, woman and asked me whether Tim was excited to see the results of our shopping trip. This seemed to settle matters for the curious sales woman, and she finished ringing up our purchase with no further pressing questions.
It was all Amy and I could do to wait until we were outside of the store before we were doubled over with laughter.
Larry*: Mr. Tim, I need to call my dad and tell him I’m cold.
Mr. Tim: Larry, you do not need to call your dad. But you can put on your jacket if you want.
Larry: (Exasperated eye rolling and scoffing takes place.) It’s a jacket. What’s that supposed to do?
*Not his real name.
One of the many changes that took place when we got Smalls is the way we feed our dogs. Ben doesn’t typically get too excited over a bowl of kibble, and he was perfectly content to munch a few bites whenever it suited him throughout the day. For us, this meant we had to put effort into feeding him about once every three days — which is roughly how long it took him to finish off a full bowl of food. It was easy as can be. No remembering to feed him twice a day, no guilty feeling that we needed to cut our evenings short so we could go home and rescue our starving dog, no stress whatsoever.
And then Smalls showed up and all that easy-peasy, low-maintenance dog ownership stuff went right out the window. Not only does Smalls get excited over a bowl of kibble, but she is not one to let her regular breakfast or dinner time slip by without giving us a stern talking to. She has gotten into the habit of eating at 7 am and 7 pm, and typically around 6:45 she’ll start giving us her sob story about how she’s starving to death, wasting away into nothing, oh my goodness she might just fall over and die if she doesn’t get some food right this second. It’s a very sad story she tells, filled with lots of crying and shameless belly displays.
When I finally get around to feeding her rescuing her from the brink of starvation, it’s very exciting. There is a lot of jumping, tail wagging, and standing up to see if there’s any food in the bowl yet.
How she has energy for this pre-meal party when she was obviously about to keel over and die just moments before, I will never know.
Ben has adapted to the new feeding schedule, too. Much as he’d prefer to graze on his kibble all day, he knows that if he doesn’t get in there and get a few bites as soon as the bowl hits the floor, Smalls will gobble it all up with no consideration whatsoever for how hungry her brother might be. She’s a little bit selfish, that Small Dog.
Here’s a little gem that Mr. Tim found in his classroom one day.
Some days I, myself, wonder how I put up with Mr. Tim. After all, he is, like, the most boring guy on the planet. But, you know, I am pretty boring, too. Most of the time Tim and I just sit around at our boring house in Boring-ville being boring together.
In case you were wondering . . .
Yes. Ben is still sitting on Smalls.