On the treachery of dogs

Internet, this story is a bit on the random side. It has nothing to do with bathrooms, or babies, or anything really. Well, maybe it has to do with pregnancy insofar as pregnancy makes me a little moody and introspective. I do find myself thinking back to random parts of my life. Fortunately, most of these memories just serve to remind me of how much better things are now than they have ever been before, ever, ever. (Even with the excessive pregnancy farting.) (Which really is outrageous.)

So anyway, once upon a time, when I was a fresh-faced girl of 23 and hardly ever farted, I had just moved to a new big city to start graduate school. A stranger in a strange land, I quickly found the local dog park, which seemed like a great place to socialize in a new city, and wound up meeting a guy who asked me out. Internet, I was young and naive, and did not yet understand the problem with meeting someone at the dog park.

The problem is this: sometimes you will like the dog, and that makes you think you like the guy who brought the dog. Because his dog is so cute and smart and cool! And the dog likes the guy, so surely the guy is great, right?

The answer, sadly, is no. No, no, a thousand times no. Dogs, contrary to popular mythology, are lousy judges of character. I love them, I do, but all dogs are basically biscuit whores who will pledge their undying devotion to pretty much any asshole with a milk bone. It took me several tumultuous years to learn this lesson, but I pass it on to you for free.

So anyway, I was 23 and a student, and there was this darling dog Wally, and how telling is it that I remember the dog's name, but not his owner's? Well, there you go.

Wally's owner was in his late 30's and a professor, but in a different field and at a different university than I was, so I tried to tell myself it wasn't too weird that he asked me out, even though really? It was weird.

I remember that we went to a Vietnamese restaurant, and it turned out Wally's owner wasn't much of a talker. So I was keeping up a constant stream of inane chatter, the way one does on a first date that isn't going well, and I mentioned that my best friend in grade school, Bambi, had been born in Vietnam, and when I visited her house she sometimes gave me chopsticks to use, but then she would make fun of me for how I held them with my hands too close to the food. She said it was more polite to hold them as close to the top as possible. So I was making every effort to hold the chopsticks better, but never really mastered it.

When I finally paused for breath, Wally's owner, without cracking a smile, took the opportunity to point out that all the while I was telling this touching story from my childhood, I was actually eating with my chopsticks held upside down.

Seriously. The narrow ends were on top, and I was picking up my food with the blunt ends.

I looked down, and he was right! I thought it was hilarious; I actually snorted noodles out my nose. Because seriously, how funny was that? I was holding my chopsticks upside down! While telling a story about how I am bad with chopsticks! It was comedy gold.

Conspicuously, Wally's owner did not laugh. He looked disapproving, and mildly embarrassed. He was, it turned out, kind of a schmuck.

And that's all I remember of that date. Except that he took me home early, and there was no kiss or anything. To my great relief, and his I'm sure.

Hmmm...You know, in retrospect, maybe if Wally's owner wanted a refined dinner companion with excellent table manners in any cultural tradition, he shouldn't have asked out someone who was just over half his age, and barely out of college. Or maybe he just needed to get a damn sense of humor already.

So anyway, internet, never trust a cute dog. Just a little life lesson for ya, there. You're welcome.