Monday, February 7, 2011


Becoming puppy pwners has reduced Stephen and I to blabbering idiots. Yesterday, Stephen called to me from upstairs, but instead of my name, he yelled "puppy!" Which would be cool if it were 1950 and we were an extremely wealthy older couple, but it's not and we're not. I have a permanent case of googley voice and say things like "sleepy time go night night" and "go poop!". Our floors are also cleaner than they have ever been, because anything left strewn about will be chewed and swallowed. Ollie's favorite place is underneath the bed, so I organized the contents of such for the first time in...nevermind.

I always forget how young I look until I meet strangers. Like the pedicurist who asked when I'll graduate high school or the cashiers at Fresh Market who call me "dear" and "sweetheart". Little do they know I'm weeks away from turning 25, which feels old. Like, I should really understand tax refunds old. I wonder what will happen when I hit the child-bearing era of life. What will people assume?


  1. dog = baby. call yourself a mother.

  2. I know the feeling. I sat next to this lady in her early fifties in a class at nursing school and started talking with her. It came out that I moved to GA recently because of my husband's work and she gasped, "You're married?! How old are you, 19?" 25 is coming up for me in a couple months too. I guess we petite ones are meant to be young.


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