Today several people brought their dogs to work. All of them were small, some were very cute, and all undoubtedly were quite loving and lovable. They made me think of my dog. Or, my almost-dog, as I should really refer to him. I've wanted a cute little pup for many years now (like, ten) and finally a couple of years ago I was in a position to get one. I studied up on the breed (Maltese). I researched AKC breeders. I found my little guy, named Grady, and started getting very attached.
There was one nagging detail though: my apartment. My landlord only allows cats. I didn't feel right sneaking a dog in here - even such a sweet and tiny one! - so I decided to ask him if he would make an exception for a 5 pound fluff of love. He didn't say no. Actually, he said "Emphatically NO!" at which point I unexpectedly burst into tears. It was so strange! I was overcome with sadness, losing this little guy I didn't even have yet. My landlord was thrown off too. He apologized and explained the rules again. I didn't take the opportunity to remind him that some of my neighbors have cats weighing over 30 pounds. He clearly is a dog-prejudiced man. Sympathetic or not, he stood by his rule. I hung up with him, hyperventilating.
The sadness sat with me for hours, and then a couple days, while I digested what was in my heart and head. And ladies and gentleman, the truth hit me like a pink and blue clad ton of bricks. I want a baby. Not just a baby, any baby courtesy of any man... I want it all. The man, the marriage, the baby. I want it all and I don't have it. Grady was going to be my little substitution on whom I could shower all of the love and warmth and hugs and hope almost every woman with a ripened womb has at some point. I'm thirty-six years old. I have no idea when or if this is going to happen. It aches sometimes. Usually I live a very happy, content life... completely without thinking about any of this, naturally. 'Cause when I do think about it, assuredly I feel a bit glum.
Today I thought about it a bit. Those darn dogs...
So, bearing in mind the things I can and cannot control, I swear my next apartment is going to be dog-friendly. And when I live there, I will definitely bring home my own little fluff of love. He will be beautiful, sweet, and may even lick my toes a little. Just like my ex-boyfriend. Only, better. My dog won't leave the toilet seat up, harbor a secret addiction to porn or emit noxious odors and pretend I'm the only one who's lactose intolerant. My dog will be de-lovely.