Friday, September 23, 2011

The Choice

What do you do when a friend chooses her dog over you? This is a little yapping annoyance who needs constant attention. When a group of us visit, she fusses obsessively over this ball of fur, not focusing on the brilliant insights we espouse. Humiliating.
No one else even likes her dog. We tolerate it because we like her and don't want to lose contact. But the writing is on the wall. She hugs that beast like it's her child, purring into its ear. I need to be hugged and purred to, but does she care anymore? She won't even cook for us.
We knew this woman long before that damn dog. At the very least, she should have brought us together and explained she was essentially dumping us for Tinkerbell, or whatever precious name she gave it. Nobody is saying it aloud, but we're all thinking the same thing. If we sneak a baby alligator into the yard and she lets the dog out...I miss her laugh and her silly complaints. If I had known she was that lonely, I would have offered myself to her. I'm still pretty toned at my age with hardly any hair on my shoulders. I would take her out for breakfast the next morning and she would see me as someone who could fill her void.
I hope the dog craps on her rug.

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