Dottie was hit by a car last night. It's alright, I'll be okay once I jump start my heart. And she's fine. She chased a cat right under the wheels of a passing car. I heard a thump, and a cry I hope to never hear again. Fearing death and guts and an enormous vet bill, I died a little as well, but the next thing you know she came running toward me – a tad wobbly, and stunned as hell – but happy to be alive.
I think our angel was watching out for us both yesterday, if you believe in those things.
Even the stupid cat survived, although I am going to try and run it over today, even if it takes me an entire tank of gas. We'll see if that little fur ball has nine lives.
I only have one life, so no time for a website someone sent me a link to this week. They thought I'd get a kick out of it, but I wasn't worthy. Right in the middle of all the typos and self-absorption, the website claimed it was only for 29-to-44 year-old, clearly frustrated women who are busy, busy, busy working mothers with full-time, underpaid, overworked nannys, all searching for FUN, the perfect latte and a stimulating conversation about where to find the perfect latte. Oh, and you had to be a committed reader (or just committed) to appreciate or comprehend the depth with which some busy, busy moms will go to amuse their adorable children so mommy can shop and drink lattes that cost more money than their live-in nanny makes per hour.
So even though I am a busy, busy working mother, I don't have a nanny, a husband I list after the dog in my list of priorities, or a need to shop. Plus I am a tad over 44, so I am one life too old for that particular website. Thank fuck.
Here's a little free tip from a busy, busy mom: Nyquil. Cherry flavoured and it makes the little darlings drowsy and pliable as fresh Play-doh, so you can go about your busy, busy day.
Besides, I hear new studies have found that busy, busy mommys and daddys have been over stimulating their offspring. Apparently all the structure, organized playtime and hyper-parenting has made a whole new wave of kids who grow up and can't wipe their own asses.
Maybe Dottie was over stimulated and that's why she made the decision to run underneath the wheels of the car. Or maybe she was acting out her frustration because of her bad haircut, or because I threatened to put her in Sylvan Learning Centre if she didn't learn to roll over as well as the dog down the street.
Maybe I'll start a website strictly for 2-to-6 year old poodles who've made bad life decisions. Or a website for busy, busy 3-to-14 year olds who grew up thinking their loving mother was oddly, Filipino.
halifaxbroad@gmail.com
I just did a design job for a lovely, local, child psychologist, so if you know anyone who needs her number, click on the link on the top right.
