You know how you get that itch, that desire to have a dog? And it’s always the same thing. It starts with seeing a puppy somewhere and telling yourself that no one in the whole wide world will ever love that puppy as much as you will love that puppy. This never happens in those mall places, though, because all you can think is, “Holy crap! These dogs are drugged! You know they drug these dogs, don’t you? If they’re sedate, they give them uppers. If they’re hyper, they give them downers. Stupid mall puppies. Totally drugged and strung out.” See, it doesn’t really happen with the dog breeders. Those people love their pets. I mean LOVE. They’ll tell you all about how the momma dog went into labor and then describe in detail about how the dog pushed out a whole bunch of slimy puppies and then they’ll offer you an alfalfa sandwich that you can eat while they check on their garden and get the paperwork together so you can take a dog home. Of course, you’ll suspect that there’s weed growing in their garden because they just look like they own a bong, but don’t get too close to the back door just to satiate your curiosity. There’s a lot of dog crap back there.

Where was I?

That’s right. I was telling you how it starts.

So it starts with wanting a puppy. For me, this was eight years ago and now Lola is a dog (not a puppy) and sometimes I try to calculate her age in dog years and then I realize that maybe she’s older than me and how is that possible and whoa! are those gray hairs on my dog’s chin and WHOA! IS THAT A HAIR ON MY CHIN? and then my brain cramps up and I start looking for the Geritol in the cabinet but only come up with something that’s a “softgel” and the next thing I know I’m debating in my head whether “softgel” is an actual word or is it something that the drug companies made up and while I’m pouring some “softgels” into the palm of my hand I realize that the dog is now humping my leg but not because she wants to make out with me. It’s because she wants me to take her for a morning walk. And the pee! The pee is coming!

And this? THIS is how that starts, people.

It’s November. It’s cold. My bathrobe sits on top of the furnace in my room (old house, water based. it’s LOVELY on the skin.) and it’s the first thing I reach for in the frigid mornings and it warms me up right away. Oh, look. There’s an old pair of wooly boots sitting in the corner and they’re easier to reach than my slippers and wow, a scarf. Suddenly, you’re dressed and warmed up and looking like you live in Gray Gardens and the dog wants to go for a walk NOW. RIGHT NOW. and you think to yourself “Why should I bother putting other clothes on when I’m nearly dressed and this will keep me warm enough to walk the dog down the street and back?” and “I think it’s dark enough so that no one will recognize me.” and a myriad of other things that allow your brain to convince your fashion self that this? It’s OK. It’s alright to wear this getup first thing in the morning and once the dog is walked you can properly dress yourself for work.

But before you can look like a non-deranged human being who has a job you run into a cop who is slowly patrolling the streets and his window is down so you decide a “Good morning, officer!” is in order and then he starts a conversation with you and you actually utter, “I know I’m dressed like I escaped from a loony bin, officer, but really. Do they let crazy psych patients keep dogs? No. No, they don’t. I’m normal. I swear.” and he gives you a look that all but says, “Lady. I haven’t had enough coffee for the likes of you.” and suddenly your brain takes a trip on trying to figure out if you have friends with bail money.

I just wanted you to know that you should leave me alone in the early morning when I’m dressed like this and my dog just needs to pee.

But now I know how it starts when I see people dressed like I’m dressed this morning and I will no longer judge them.