A conversation with the geriatric poodle

“Hey, peaches, c’mere.”

“Excuse me, but I’m a little busy rubbing my ass across the floor.”

“C’mere, pup. Yeah, it itches when you have shit stuck to your ass.”

“What the? Get that toilet paper away from me, you gypsy witch!”

“There you go. See, it’s better when you …”


“… get the shit off your ass. All better!”

“Rip hair off my anus one more time and I’ll give you rabies, bitch.”


So, I met Mr. eHarmony’s almost 4-year-old daughter last night. She seems like a pretty normal kid, and very cute. She was really tired, so she had a bit of a meltdown, but all-in-all, it was a pretty good night. She didn’t announce her hatred of me. Yet. She’s 3. Right now, I’m just another random adult. This is good.

Most of my friends have kids, so I’m used to being around younguns. But these women are my friends, and so of course I step in and stop junior from taking a header down the stairs towards certain brain damage. But eHarmony’s daughter?

That’s somebody else’s baby. An ex-wife who probably hates me without even knowing I exist. So whatever interaction I have with her child is probably wrong. I can hear the dialogue in my mind: She likes to be held like this. Don’t offer her peanut butter; it makes her throw up. How could you not know that a bag of glass shards is not an age-appropriate toy?

Mr. eHarmony is very laid back about the whole thing, but he’s also honest about being cognizant of his child’s needs and how he’d have to talk about me to his ex if/when I start to spend a lot of time with the child. I respect this.

I’m pretty laid back about it all, too. Except … if I do stuff like rip shit-encrusted hair off my dog’s ass – and use terms like shit and ass to narrate the process – how in the world can I pretend to be even remotely capable of spending time with a 4-year-old human? And when did I lose this ability?

I babysat a ton as a teenager, and I can be counted on at social gatherings to hold any baby and lull that kid to dreamland. Cha Cha? She can put anybody to sleep.

So I shouldn’t be nervous about this. Maybe I wouldn’t be if I didn’t care so much. If I didn’t really like Mr. eHarmony, I wouldn’t give a shit.

I mean, I wouldn’t give a care. A care, that’s what I said. No, I would never use a naughty word like shit. I mean, naughty words suck. I mean, don’t fucking cuss.


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