Worse Than Toddlers


A friend of ours stopped by to visit last night with her boyfriend. I had met him briefly at a party, but he had never met Jack. He’s a very nice guy – intelligent, engaging and friendly with a quiet elegance that makes you feel as though you should shop for nicer clothes. Have you ever been around someone like that? You know, the kind of person who sort of exudes sophistication; not in an obnoxious, condescending way, but in a way that makes you want to be more…refined.

Fat chance of that ever happening in our house.  Ugh.  Poor guy had no idea what he was getting into.

Before they arrived, I spent about 10 minutes running around picking up dog toys and chunks of fluffy stuffing they had torn out of said toys. The dogs were surprisingly calm, so I (foolishly) assumed that they would behave (for once).

Hah!

I truly love my dogs, but, seriously? They’re such an embarrassment. Maggie (the lab mix) barks incessantly whenever someone walks in the door. Rocco (the Jack Russell with dumpster breath) barks and growls uncontrollably whenever someone makes a loud noise, closes a laptop or raises their arms/hands for any reason. Frankie (the dimwit) just runs around in circles and jumps like an idiot. If he had background music, it would be the Benny Hill theme song.

I heard them pull up, so I carefully opened the door before they had a chance to knock on it, hoping that it would prevent the (annoyingly white-trash) dogs from going ballistic.

It didn’t work.

I welcomed them into our home, not that they could hear me over the cacophony of deafening barking that was going on behind me.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I consider myself to be a pretty bright person most of the time, but sometimes I have no sense whatsoever. I should have just shuttled the dogs upstairs to one of the bedrooms so we could simply enjoy a quiet evening together. Instead, I just stood there apologizing like an ass.

Strike One.

I offered them something to drink. She opted for white wine. He asked for coffee (a decision he would live to regret). We rarely eat cereal and we drink our coffee black, so we almost never have milk in the house. I looked at my friend and quietly asked her if he drank his coffee black, hoping beyond hope that she would say yes. Nope. Cream and sugar, please. I mean, honestly? Would it kill me to buy a pint of milk on the off chance that someone may be willing to endure the filth, the dogs and the general chaos and visit?

Strike Two.

Did I mention that he isn’t a dog person? Why is it that dogs always seem to gravitate to those who have the strongest aversion to them? Dumpster Breath and Dimwit seemed to have an innate sense of his discomfort around them and took turns jumping in his lap as though he had the last available treat on the planet and they were tasked with charming it out of him.

Elegant Boyfriend (politely reacting to rude dog in lap): Oh.
Me: Rocco! Get DOWN! (I’m so sorry.) Frankie! NO! (I’m so, so sorry.) ROCCO! KNOCK IT OFF! (Jesus. I’m so sorry.) FRANKIE! STOP GET OFF OF HIM! (Ugh. So sorry.)

I handed him his (black) coffee and watched in horror as Dimwit jumped on his lap, causing his coffee to slosh all over his beautifully pressed (pale blue) Ralph Lauren oxford and (cream-colored) linen shorts.

Strike Three.

I can’t wait to see them again. At their house, of course, where Team Mayhem won’t be able to interfere with our visit.