It all happened so fast. I didn’t know what was going on
until it was too late… I want you to know I didn’t ask for this, didn’t want
this. You always hear about it happening to those young guys with the spray
tans and cool hair. I don’t have either of those things, literally.
It all
started when I took my dog out for a walk. There we were out strolling through
the neighborhood, on a fine day. The sun was not quite getting ready to set; it
was a perfect seventy degrees. Both I and my canine companion were enjoying the
weather and admiring the beautiful homes in the area, myself mostly the early
Christmas decorations, her mostly the mailboxes and light posts that had been previously
visited by other dogs.
Then my
dog perked up sensing danger, and it was at that moment I heard a voice cry
out.
“Oh
what kind of dog is that?” the voice was thick, wanton and not far away.
I
looked hither and then thither, against the sunlight I could make out a lean
almost wispy predatorial shape.
My dog
urged me to flee, by gnashing her teeth and tugging at her leash, but alas, I am
sometimes polite to a fault. In my best neighborly voice I squeaked, “She’s a
bull terrier.” And began inexplicably walking towards the siren’s call. My
go-to follow up line after this is always, “Ya know like the Target dog. And if
you don’t know the Target dog, like the ole’ Budweiser dog; Spuds.”
In the
rare instance that someone I encounter doesn’t understood my dog’s breed after
those two references, I have an emergency item of trivia regarding General
Patton, but it hardly ever sees the light of day.
Similarly
in this case, before I could continue my diatribe I was interrupted by the
voice. “Oh you can stop right there I know the Bud Light dog.”
Somehow,
after these words were uttered I was in this woman’s driveway- and I mean all
up in her driveway, if you know what I’m sayin’- it all seemed so wrong. She
struck me as an odd duck from the start, although most individuals do,
otherwise we keep conversating with them to begin with?
As the
sun spots faded from my vision I stood face to face with a small blonde woman
who looked to be in her mid-forties. She introduced herself as Amanda, and
started to ask all the questions, and I became all too eager to give answers.
“Are
you new to the neighborhood?”
“Yes.”
“How do
you like it here?”
“Pretty
good. How do you-“
“Aww isn’t
she a cutie?” she knelt in her black satin evening dress to pet my dog the
ever-loveable, practically irresistible Gretchen. Gretch’ tolerated it as best
she could, while her expressive eyes tried to warn me, “Danger Will Robinson, DANGER!”
This
process continued, wherein she would make an inquiry, and I would answer. Each
time I attempted to insert a question in return, it was either ignored or
outright talked over. She also mentioned no less than 30 times she was in some
state of divorce, though the timing and age of said divorce was never nailed
down. In fact, with each statement and anecdote she shared the official status
of the divorce became more and more vague.
“Are
you a Phoenix native?”
“No.”
“Hmm,
where from?”
“Ohio.”
Apparently
pleased, “Mm-hmm, a Midwest boy?”
At this
response Gretchen whirled in a circle and peed copiously on her driveway. For
no less than 3 minutes. Straight. Without stopping. This action did little to
derail Amanda’s line of questioning.
“Did I mention
I have a little dog too, just the cutest thing!” This statement seemed to make
way for an idea, as I saw the smile and the light bulb simultaneously appear on
her face, and above her head. Looking down at Gretchen, she asked, “Do you ever
take her to the dog park?”
“Ya
sometimes me and my girlfriend will brave the dog parks, but they are kinda-”
Cut off
once more, “Excuse me, what was that?”
Thinking
she was trying to correct my hick-like grammar I restated, “My girlfriend and I-”
“Oh,
that’s what I thought you said.”
Then,
it happened I wasn’t prepared for it. I mean you always see this kind of thing
on TV or in movies. You never think it’s going to happen to you.
Amanda’s
hand shot out, her experienced fingers found my left bicep- taught from holding
on to my dog that was still urging me to get the hell out of there. “Mmm-hmmm,”
she purred as she pinched the flesh of my muscle in her hand. As nonchalantly
as she could muster she then followed up that action with these words, “That’s
a shame- not that I was attracted to you anyway.”
Like
that, the storm passed. Amanda bid me a good day, and retreated towards her
home.
I stood
in her driveway, dumbfounded- about a lot of things truthfully; college level
math, nature vs. nurture- but mostly: what
in the exact hell did I just experience?
“Nice
talking to you.” The words drifted towards me as she shut the front door. I could
feel their hollowness as I heard them.
Gretchen,
still as concerned as ever, urged that we make a hasty getaway. I agreed. As
quick as our six legs would carry us, we headed home.
Since
then I have learned better than to venture down Amanda’s street, for fear that
next time I will not have the proper answer to make her retreat- that and her
driveway now reeks of dog piss.
