I know, I know. I've been lame and absent, but I'm back with a real humdinger.
From time to time I like to take stock of myself. My strengths (limitless!) and my weaknesses (limitless!) and see how things are shaping up.
One particular sour note stood out: Judginess. I'm as open minded as they come and I've made more mistakes than most, but if I see some overly plumped up lips and some huge knockers on the arm of an octogenarian, I'm going to have some thoughts. Not very cool and not very nice of me. If I see a dude behind the wheel of a truck with tires the size of Miami, I'm going to take some mean guesses about what's going on down south of his bible belt. Again, pretty judgey. Pretty mean. So I thought I'd get to work on this front.
As luck would have it, around about the same time, what I thought was an impossibility happened. I didn't see it coming and the only thing I could think to do was embrace it. I bought a dog stroller.
You may say, that's so unlike you. I may say, not anymore. You may say, isn't that something only creeps do? I may say, count me among their ranks. You may say, but Ed's a big dog. Like 70 pounds. How does he fit in the stroller? I may say, it's a super huge one. And it's baby blue.
So, there you go. And what's more, I absolutely love it. I love strolling around with Ed. We have a fine old time. You see, he's thirteen now. And with three legs and cancer, he was having a tough time getting out in the world. Enter the stroller. Now, Ed can feel the sun on his face and the wind in his soft patchy hair and he's happier than he's been in months. Also, it's given me the chance to do some work on the judgier side of me.
You see, prior to my purchase, I would gaze upon the dog stroller folks of the world with a roll of my eyes and a smidge of disdain. But now, I get it. If I spot another pooch stroller out, we wave happily to each other from across the park. We compare models and wheel widths. They've even offered up good advice about how to prop Ed up more comfortably due to his missing limb. Sure, they may use a shrill baby voice when talking to their dogs, and yes, that makes me cringe a little, but they love Ed and they love their dogs and who really gives a shit.
So a week or so ago Ed and I were strolling around, minding our own beeswax, when a woman wearing a snarky look and a sensible pantsuit decided to share some thoughts with me. (Unsolicited? Yes. Spoken in a douchey voice? Of course!) She said, Don't dogs need to walk? For exercise? I could be wrong but I don't think you're helping him much.
Well, well, well, what did we have here? A woman who knows nothing about me or Ed giving ultra judgey advice? Yes, that's precisely what we had. And we also had a brilliant opportunity for me to exercise my new non-judgey ways. Take them out for a stroll if you feel me. Also, pre-stroller, I would have thought pretty much the exact same thing she did. You'd think I might have some sympathy for her. Not so it turns out. I swung into action and said the following, As a matter of fact you are wrong. He's got three legs and incurable cancer so shut the fuck up.
A work in progress is how I like to frame it.
I've got my work cut out for me when it comes to judginess. And patience. And hardcore swearing.
But over the years Ed has taught me a lot of lessons, one of them being, yes, you can teach an old dog new tricks, so I'll just keep working on it.
