I grew up living across the street from my grandmother who still at the time had 3 children living at home, upstairs from my aunt who has moved out from my grandmothers home and down the street from my other grandparents. We walked in to each other’s homes unannounced every day all day. To this day I do the same when I am home in the NE….. It’s one of the best parts of being home. However, you would never know it by my actions here in my own home state of FL. I do not like to be dropped in on, in fact it’s akin to having a mammogram for me. Uncomfortable but necessary only on rare occasions.
So Sunday is glorious, my boys are on the golf course and my girls are content to just enjoy a lazy morning. I grab my nook and head out to my favorite double lounger by the pool in my pajamas. The sun and breeze are the perfect combination and I can just feel heaven sinking into my bones. I even let my darling dog come and sit with me on my chaise but she is far too busy chasing lizards around the pool deck to enjoy the laziness. Ahhhhh! This is the best…. Why don’t I do this more often?
Because my dog is a jackass! That’s why! 7 pounds of hair in the form of a 9 yr old Yorkie that has ADD and runs away like a juvenile delinquent. And the vet had the nerve to tack on $300 worth of vitamins to help her bad knees…. Give me a break, the dog sets speed records for the entire neighborhood… (If you know about my neighborhood, that is actually funny)… Back to the matter at hand…. Lexi, short for Princess Alexa Enchanting (that is exactly what you get when a 5 year old names the dog and there is 100 boxes on the AKC registration form) has wandered off unbeknownst to me in a matter of minutes.
I am still as I was at 8:00am with my hair in a ponytail, not a stitch of makeup on but my glorious eyelashes and my pajamas which are nothing spectacular I will admit. In my late 20’s I had suffered from hormonal imbalances that would give me night sweats when I would ovulate so I became accustomed to only cotton Jammie’s and as little to them as humanly possible with 3 children which basically amounts to tanks and boxer shorts. These were my favorite, black spaghetti strap tank and my mojito and margarita short boxers, which are perfectly fine for lounging on my deck hidden by 20 ft ficus hedges from my next door neighbors and only water in my backyard.
As I hop inside to grab a cold iced tea the doorbell rings…. I freeze. My bedroom is upstairs and the entire front and back of my house in the main living areas is glass. I am trapped. I peer around the stairs hiding myself like Eve in the Garden of Eden after the apple and through the glass I can see 2 strange gentleman and that freaking 4 legged traitor who lives here. Damn!
I call to my oldest daughter to get the stupid dog from the gentlemen…. No answer. I call again. She doesn’t respond…. Out pops my youngest daughter from her room, “Why are you calling Reese?” Oh goody gumdrops she can help me. “Where’s Reese?”, “I don’t know”….Or not….. I look at my 5 year old… Can she get the dog? No, that is bad parenting. I can’t get up the stairs to get more appropriate clothing without being seen…. This just sucks!
I take a deep breath, try to make 5 more inches of pajamas out of what I have on and I open the door. “Is this your dog?” from the gentlemen who have pulled their golf cart to my front stoop but sit inside there with the damn runaway dog. Better make this short and sweet before I am charged with indecent exposure. “Yes, I hadn’t realized she ran off. Thank you so much for bringing her home.” I say as I poke my head from around the door, maybe I can get away without actually going outside….
Yeah, not going to happen. They don’t move from the cart. Fabulous, they can get up to ring the doorbell, TWICE, but not to hand me my dog.
Yes, they are cleanly shaved, their clothes are pressed and they are 30 yrs my senior and I am looking like the Wrath of Methuselah at 11:30am in about 3 ounces of clothing. I raise my eyes to God and wonder why….
1. I didn’t put a gate in at the foot of my driveway.
2. I ever got a dog.
3. I didn’t keep an electric fence.
4. I don’t leave a robe in the downstairs laundry room for emergencies.
5. My damn dog never runs away like she means it!
I step out the door in my full glory trying to muster up every bit of dignity that I can in my alcoholic binge celebrating sleepwear and take my errant canine from the gentleman’s lap where she is reclining while trying not to flash him 4 inches of cleavage.
“We found her in the road.” (Bite your tongue, Kline.)
“Really? Thank you again so much for bringing her home!” (I am completely lying here. I am so embarrassed I don’t care to even look at this dog for the next week!)
And then the little miscreant has the audacity to lick me as I complete my very first walk of shame in my own damn driveway at ripe old age of 40! And to think this day started off so brilliantly!