Friday, April 27, 2012

5 secrets I've told my dog

Maggie, who loves you.
Maggie is an awesome confidante. Much like the mythical honey badger, she does not give a shit. And in fact, if you are even in a room with her, she vibrates with excitement because she is lustily desperate for any attention at all. Accidentally make eye contact with this creature and she'd totally marry you, if they allowed that kind of thing (they do not, I've googled it).

So anyway, I tell her things because most of my hours are spent with corruptible, unimpressed children. And, as previously mentioned, she does not give a shit. I could reveal state secrets about nuclear wessels and she would simply blink and gaze at me with adoration. And now, I'm telling you because I might as well be writing these posts inside of a bunker 4 stories under the Russian tundra based on my Google Analytics reports lately. It's like a PostSecret confessional, but with even more anonymity, and less heartfelt earnesty.

1. I can't spell, or use, commas.

For someone who claims to be a writer, this is especially shameful. At this point, I can barely write with a pen on paper because I'm so dependent on my friend, Mr. Squiggly Line.  As far as commas, go, I have given up. Maggie loves me anyway.

2. I still sing into my hairbrush.

You know, that thing pre-teens do (or did, in the 80s, according to every Molly Ringwald movie). I have a hard time passing by an unsuspecting hairbrush and not picking it up to channel my inner Debbie Gibson (who was the better singer but far less interesting than Tiffany). I sing into my hairbrush and make eye contact with myself in the mirror. Maggie pants appreciatively.

3. I hate coffee.

I feel like by age 37, I should be able to drink coffee without rendering it unrecognizable by adding copious amounts of white stuff to it, but no. I am embarrassed to drink coffee in front of people because I have to make the waitress bring more cream and sugar, and I won't order it at a drive-thru because I don't want to ask for "8 or 9 creams and several handfuls of sugar packets".  Maggie stands by patiently while I ruin a perfectly good cup every morning.

4. I only make my children bathe if we are going somewhere.

I just don't see the point. We go somewhere frequently enough. Why waste all that clean? Like the dishes, they are just going to get dirty again. Better to cover up the dirty parts with clothes and forget about it. Maggie likes us better when we are 5, 6 days past clean.

5. I have an irrational fear of gas stations.

I'm relatively sure, as I stand around pumping just an incredibly ridiculous amount of gasoline into my van, that the whole place is seconds away from exploding. I stand perfectly still while peering suspiciously at everyone around me, keeping an eye out for lit cigarettes, bundles of dynamite, and suspicious heaps of fertilizer.  I also nonchalantly ground myself for fear of death-by-static-electricity. Maggie understands, and fears for my safety, as well.

So, what do you tell your dog?


Jen said...


I tell Ella that she's lucky she's pretty. She just looks back at me and lets me know that I'm lucky she can't talk. :/

Sarah Hunt said...

Haha. I love it. I do have to tell Maggie she is lucky she's cute sometimes, like when she sticks her stupid snoot into the garbage and flings gross stuff all over the kitchen.

Leanna said...

Hmm, I don't think I've ever met someone with the same irrational fear of gas stations that I have, but I've never felt comfortable confiding it either. Also a big fan of nonchalant grounding here. Weird. As for infrequent kid bathing, I'm convinced it helps their immune systems, plus look at all the environment we're saving by not wasting water, soap, etc.

That said, commas rock, and how the hell can you not like coffee?

MizGreenJeans said...

DD#1 shares your fear of gas stations, while DD#2 adores them, especially the car wash. When she was small, it was the treat of the week to go to the car wash (go figure.)

Dogs are the very best confidants. You can tell them anything, and they do not judge, (especially if you give them tummy rubs and a biscuit.)

Other Jen said...

There is hope for you, yet, Sarah! I started drinking my coffee black as of about a year ago and I am 41. I basically got tired of "girling up" my coffee, as the male folk call it in this house.

I have told Red (and now Zelda) so many things I have not confessed to any human. Why would I start now? ;-)

OK. Fine. My irrational fear is of bridges. I am not concerned about the structural integrity of the bridge. I am afraid of losing control of my truck and driving off the edge of the bridge. Strange since I drive over the highest bridge in Ohio at least twice a day.

Singing is nothing new around here. My kid has proclaimed he likes driving in mommy's truck better than daddy's car because "we can jam the tunes and sing our hearts out". But secretly, I wonder if I could have done well as a singer in real life had I had more support as a kid. I will never know.

Finally, I refuse to live vicariously through my kid, even though I have a private moment of giddy when he sings ON key or wins at a horse show.

I am sure there are a lot more things I have told the Sheltie girls, but that will have to do for now. I, too, am lucky they can't talk!

Sarah Hunt said...

Ha! I didn't know the fear of gas stations was a thing. I totally agree about the immune systems. My kids don't get sick much, and while we could probably assume it's because they aren't in enclosed spaces with other germy children very often, I like the dirt theory much better.

My coffee habits are shameful, I know. :( I can't explain it. And commas, can, blow, me.

Sarah Hunt said...

I'm very heartened to hear about all these other people with gas station issues!

Oh, and get this. Last night we stopped for gas, and Kurt did the pumping and then went into the store to grab something. Well, this left me alone to peer at the other patrons, and it was like all my fears realized. The woman in the next aisle was smoking. The lady behind me got into her SUV while pumping (that's how you DIE, lady, read my link!!). A big tanker truck with some kind of explosive load pulled in. I was in a state of panic until Kurt came out and I left in a hurry like a crazy person. :D

Sarah Hunt said...

I love your mini-confessional. :) I'm not a huge fan of driving over bridges, myself. It's never too late to sing, and I think a tiny bit of vicarious living is OK from time to time. You did grow this person inside of your body. I think that merits a little projection from time to time!

I'm trying to very gradually scale back on the ratios in my coffee, but I dunno. Maybe I need to spend a week in Columbia or something. Maybe immersion would help, like when you really want to learn a foreign language?

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