Because the night…

March 6th, 2006

…appears to belong to everyone but me. I am comically exhausted to the point of hilarious horror with horrible spelling and giant bags under my eyes. Bags large enough to carry all of Harry Potter’s Hogwarts furniture and an extra special space under my left eye for his trunk. Hedwig can ride in the eyelid.

I volunteered to take the night shift, since I have easier job with the awesome boss and the lax dress code and the flexible hours. And because Adam is home with her ALL DAY LONG and being a single parent isn’t fair, especially since I didn’t get home until 9 p.m. tonight. And yes, because Adam is the breadwinner and I am the mommy. The glass ceiling starts at home, people.

I didn’t sleep last night. I mean, not a minute. As my dear friend Yesrie, can attest, as she was getting frenetic and completely sleep-deprived “WHAT IS SHE DOING?” emails at 3 a.m. I laid here, listening to Sunny’s breathing, afraid if I didn’t hear EVERY BREATH that she would stop. As if. She wheezed her way through the night. She’s a PUG, for chrissake. She even snored for good measure, as she is doing now.

I need to point out that in the last 24 hours I have met more neighbors than I even knew existed. And of course, having a dog puts you in the collective consciousness, or as Amalah would say, wide open and vulnerable for the piles and piles of assvice. And not only am I now known as the neighbor who flashes her boobs and screams at her husband, but I am known as the lunatic who screams at little girls who let their chihuahuas run at my dog, nipping, yapping and screaming all the while. I was so shrill I’m surprised they haven’t lynched me.

Give me a break. It was 7 a.m. and I hadn’t slept more than 11 minutes. Adam already laid into me for grumping out on a 10 year old kid, who now thinks I’m an asshole. In fact, as Adam walked Sunny earlier today, a woman stopped him and said, “I hear this dog isn’t that nice and doesn’t get along with other dogs! The chihuahua’s owner told me.”

And this is how Adam discovered that I am an asshole who is mean to kids at 7 a.m. And it is also how I solidified my reign as the Asshole Nutty Wife in the neighborhood with the quasi-normal husband. And PLEASE, lady. She’s three fucking pounds. A real terror.

And can I just add that I need to realize that this is a small neighborhood? And, um, maybe I should put some actual clothes on to walk the dog in the morning, instead of a random, ancient, near see-through Victoria’s Secret nightshirt over jeans, with my hair wild? Maybe I could at least put a real shirt on. I was humiliated, standing there in my sweaty nightshirt, barely-there boobs threatening to break free at any moment while I scooped up Sunny from the dangerous threat of the chihuahua’s jaws.

But the worst part is that right now I’m wearing a kelly green tank top and pink striped pants. And in the middle of the night, and in the morning, this is what I’ll have on. And it will be sweaty. Oh yes, it will.

*Patti Smith. Or 10,000 Maniacs. Or, if you’re under the age of 30, that godawful not-as-pretty-as-they-make-her-out-to-be-and-no-I’m-not-jealous-well-maybe-of-her-ass-but-that’s-it-I-swear chick on American Idol. Becky? Was it Becky? The twin?

Entry Filed under: Nuttin'