My stepmother called me yesterday to inform me that a friend of hers had some itty, bitty kittens and would we like one? Truthfully, I am terrified of cats. I don’t trust them; my logical mind knows that if they were just bigger they would eat me. Remember that German dumbass from Las Vegas that led everyone to believe he had mystical tiger taming powers until the goddamn thing realized it was a TIGER and bit off the dude’s head. I suppose this irrational fear has something to do with some suppressed childhood memory; remind me to discuss this with my therapist. Ahhh yes and I am also allergic to them. They make my eyeballs (yes, the actual eyeball) swell up and bulge out of my head like someone with a severe goiter problem.
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A long time ago when I wasn’t fat from college anymore and before I had adult orthodontics, I was on date with a super hot guy (calm down Mike, don’t get all Italian, it was before we met) and we went back to his house to “talk”. Unfortunately, he had a stupid cat and within minutes my left eye had swelled up about three times its normal size. I kept trying to act like nothing was wrong even though it was abundantly clear the guy was absolutely disgusted by my presence. A couple Benedryl later, I was totally fine and ready to get back to business but my date suddenly remembered he had a mandatory work meeting at 10:00pm on a Saturday night (he felt really bad). Frankly, I was surprised when he never called again; I thought the conversation really flowed prior to the protruding eyeball incident. Whatever.
NEW ECHO DOT
Anyway, I spent the afternoon pondering my irrational fear of pussy cats and decided that the time had come for me to face it head on. I casually mentioned the little, itsy, bitsy kitty cat in desperate need of a home before it was cruelly euthanized (unlikely) to Mike last night while we were eating dinner. Naturally the girls became hysterical, assuring us that they would take care of the thing and “never, ever fight again” if we would “please oh please oh please” let them have a cat. Mike, wise to my cunning and manipulative ways, shook his head and said “Sorry girls, mommy is really allergic to cats and she would have to move out if we got a cat.” This was met by a moment of silence until my daughter piped up “Weeeeeeellllll, we could go and visit her.” W.T.F. XO
I am a writer, parent, and generally loose in the world. Yes, I meant what I said. Whatever. I handled it.
