Since becoming a pet owner, I have succumbed to several absurd and disgusting habits, including:
- Letting my dog lick my face when I let him out of his crate in the morning or when I get home from work;
- Kissing him back on his (closed, usually) dog mouth;
- Watching the little bags I use to pick up his crap float out of my pockets in public — if onlookers can’t tell what they are, they quickly figure it out when they see the little bone-shaped biscuits that spilled out with the bags;
- Going to work with visible dog hair on a black suit;
- Buying curios that in no way fit the aesthetic of our apartment because it reminds me of my dog, including a metal sign with a corgi silhouette on it from an overpriced strip mall trinket shop; and
- Compared raising a puppy to raising a kid.**
At least I know now not to bother with the delusion that I’m going to be one of those always put-together, never put-upon calm, cool, and collected moms. I mean, I will be calm because I have a Type B personality (this is how I work in Big Law without losing my mind, by the way), but I was never cool, and I to the extent that I ever had my life collected, kids will surely undo anything the puppy hasn’t already gotten to.
*Not counting this dangling preposition or my cloying need to show off my intelligence by identifying the dangling preposition I don’t know how to get rid of. Oops, there’s another one.
**I am not actually ashamed of this one, but I recognize that it’s not socially acceptable.