Sometimes, I feel as though I have an endless supply of pet peeves. A lot of things that other people do really annoy me, including: asking inappropriate personal questions, feeling entitled, not having any manners, laziness, etc. I could really go on forever, but I’ll spare you the misery of my overly critical nature.
Of all the many pet peeves I possess, there is but one that tops the list: cheesy, open, public displays of gratuitous affection. One of my very favorite examples of this phenomenon is an episode of Seinfeld that we all know and love, titled “The Soup Nazi.” In said episode, Jerry and his girlfriend are “that” couple, opening calling each other “shmoopy.” It’s the classic “No, I love YOU more!” concept that makes most of us gag. Other examples include baby talk, constant hand-holding and putting your hand in your significant other’s rear pants pocket.
Don’t get me wrong: I love my husband very much. I enjoy affectionate exchanges, but I don’t need to tell the world our loving pet names for one another. No one cares, no one is interested and I’m pretty sure the earth is a better place without that part of our lives on display.
Strangely, though, this leads me to a candid confession: when no one is around I am THOSE people I despise so much. Seriously, if you were a fly on the wall at my house, you would vomit all over the wall from all my crazy baby talkin’. I don’t know how it began, but my weird baby talk cheese ball train is dangerously close to derailing.
Personally, I blame the dog for all of this. She makes me want to talk to her like a baby; I swear she enjoys gratuitous baby-talk as much as cheese flavored Beggin’ Strips. I’ve never been in a mine field before, but talking to your dog is pretty darn close: one minute I’m going about my business, then next BOOM! “Rudi doggie, do you want mommy to throw your towely-poo?”
For those of you who do not know, towely-poo is an old towel, tied into a knot that is Rudi’s most favorite toy, second only to shirty-poo, which I’m sure you realize is an old shirt, also tied into a knot. Is this really what I’ve become?
Growing up, we didn’t have a dog. I had a guinea pig, but that really isn’t close to canine territory. So, it’s quite impossible to know the origin of my sheer craziness in regards to our poochie-poo. I know: again with the crazy addition of “poo” to everything I say. But, she likes it!
The funny thing about all of this is that, at no point, did I take a step back and try to stop the inevitable progression into crazy dog owner territory. I mean, when talking to my dog I openly refer to my husband as “daddy” and I’m of course “mommy” and we have no children. I sing to my dog. I let her lay on the couch. I openly invite her into my bed. I talk to her. I chase her around the dining room table. I monitor her poop schedule. I let her lick my face. I brush her teeth with beef toothpaste. I scratch that special place behind her ear.
It’s like I have no regard for my personal dignity when I think no one is watching me act like some deranged mother. I mean, as long as I’m not acting this way in public it’s OK, right?
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