I am spontaneous. That’s a lie. But really, I WANT to be spontaneous. And between the Hubs and me I am WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA(500 A’s)Y more spontaneous. I mean, I guess it’s good that one of us
drags their feet thinks things through, but it would be nice if every once in awhile we could just be wild and crazy. And by wild and crazy, I mean splurging on Bounty instead of the usual grocery store brand paper towels.
Sometimes decisions need to be made quickly, though, and this usually throws the Hubs into a full blown panic attack. He will run 10 miles, swim the Atlantic Ocean, and bike up Mount Everest in an attempt to calm himself down. In the meantime, I will roll my eyes and make the stupid decision. (And then spend countless hours worrying that I potentially made the wrong one.) We handle this shit great!
On rare occasions I develop a ‘rebel without a cause’ attitude and act like I’m taking charge of the horrendous, pathetic way we make decisions. Fuck this!, I think, we’re doing it THIS way! I hate to admit as to how that usually works out. Spoiler alert: I suck at making decisions.
But the Hubs has developed a new strategy and it’s kind of scaring the crap out of me. I can’t tell if he stupidly stumbled upon this or he’s a psychological genius, but his handling of a recent situation left me paralyzed and, frankly, freaked out.
We have a beautiful, well-behaved Golden Retriever. It took me 5 years … yes, FIVE … to convince the Hubs to get him. I grew up with dogs and to be honest it was starting to get weird for me not to have one in the house. Especially since the kids were starting to act less and less like animals themselves. I mean, let’s face it, we basically had 3 puppies for several years there, but instead of barking they screamed their heads off, occasionally repeated curse words we attempted to keep from saying in front of them, and declared they hated us anytime a lollipop was withheld from their
grimy adorable little hands. Actually, as I’m writing this, I’m realizing we are still in this phase … but whatever.
The dog is awesome – did I mention this? Like, everyone wants a dog like ours. He’s not perfect, but he’s pretty damn close. He’s about a 100 times more well-behaved than our kids. So, naturally, I would like to screw with that.
Let’s get another dog!!!
Now I know full well that the Hubs would rather eat nails then get another dog (although he does honestly love our dog … and weirdly, it would not surprise me to learn that he has, in fact, eaten nails before), so I start this process by letting him “accidentally” see pictures of Golden Retrievers for sale on my computer. Or a breeder calls our house and leaves a message. You know, shit like that.
Here’s the part that gets scary … he doesn’t say anything.
Wait. Is he really gonna let me do this?
The shock is, well, shocking.
I’m gearing up for the argument and there is none.
Now I start thinking … do I really want another dog? Do I really want the puppy phase again? Do I really want to be cleaning up poop and pee all day long off the carpets? And what if this one isn’t as good as our current dog? And what if they don’t get along? And what if Nick and Jess don’t end up together on New Girl? And what if Angelina’s double mastectomy was really a publicity stunt? And what if … what if … what if …
Did we get a second dog, you ask?
And the Hubby has been smiling A LOT lately.
Dumb Luck or Manipulative Mastermind … you decide.