A couple days before Christmas, Samantha and Miranda and I planned to get together for a little wine-sipping, queso dip-munching and — most importantly — shit-talking. I had what was arguably the worst idea ever about a half-hour prior to that little meeting.
Knowing a rotweiler-lab mix (Dexter) and a pup so tiny you could flatten her with one misstep (Stevie) also live there, I should’ve never asked if we could bring Penny along. But I wanted to show her and her new candy cane sweater off and Samantha replied to my text with an enthusiastic “Of course!” so I brought her along. Like a moron. (Jake joined the estrogen pow-wow because, well, he was muzzled and hog-tied into coming.)
From the moment Samantha answered the door, it was straight up Barnum & Bailey in there. Like Harry before him, Dexter immediately saw something in our daughter, Penny, and proved as much by chasing her through the house at 90 mph. That caused Stevie to yap and nip like a mad woman (jealousy brings out the worst in bitches). Samantha was chasing Dexter. Stevie was chasing Samantha. I was chasing Penny. And Jake was juggling bowling pins while riding a unicycle.
When Dexter got distracted for one-tenth of a second, I picked up Penny to shield her from this middle-aged man’s lewd advances. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, Dexter had no idea where she had gone. That would seem like a good thing, but it’s actually the point at which I asked Jake if it would be too much trouble to drive Penny back to my mom’s and then find his way back to Samantha’s. Forget the fact it’s snowing outside and he has no idea whether he’s in Park City or Juniper Creek (where my “Big Love” fans at?!).
Dexter is sprinting through the house, going from room to room in search of the little blond piece of ass he’s now thinking was a hallucination. The more he looks, the more pissed he gets. Forget the pussy, he wants to give her a beat down now! Penny is trembling in my arms as we both watch him storm through the joint like he’s goddamn Mike Tyson in the late ’80s and she’s Robin Givens.
“Oh my God, do something!!!!”
All I remember from there is the sight of big, burly Dexter, in the snow, watching all of us humans sip wine and munch on queso dip through the sliding glass door that looked into Samantha’s dining room. We didn’t even have the decency to close the blinds. Oh and we didn’t forget about the shit talking, either. Except, to our utter surprise, the source of our shit talking was a dude named Dexter who clearly has a sexual assault record.
When Samantha let the horny lunatic back in the house, he tried to play it cool, only occasionally glancing at my little honor student and licking his chops.
Look, I can’t help if my Penny drives the guys crazy. I can’t help if they lust after her as though they’ve never seen a female dog in their lives. I can’t help if, well … what I’m trying to say is … I can’t help if she’s a chip off the ol’ block.
But if what Samantha and Miranda started to accuse her of is true than I guess the ol’ block’s been around the block a couple times. These traders who claim they’re my best friends were trying to say Penny was enjoying the attention. Um, she wasn’t running away anymore because she was TIRED, hookers. And, she only let him lick her ears until drool hung from them because she hadn’t had a bath in a week, fools. As for laying on her back and spreading her legs wide open while he did the ear-licking — similar to the ol’ downward head push so many male humans are fond of — well, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for that, too. I just was too busy taking notes to bother asking what caused it.
I could brush off all that nonsense because, CLEARLY, it came down to misunderstandings. But what I couldn’t tolerate were the sweater attacks. No way. (Said sweater can be seen below on my innocent pooch, who’s got her ass in the air on Harry’s bed here. Insignificant detail.)
Samantha and Miranda tried to say the fabulous red and white striped sweater (given to her by her aunt Asian Spice) sent the wrong message. It’s so “off the shoulders,” said Miranda. I believe at one point they used the words “asking for it.” Oh, and I guess Jodie Foster in “The Accused” was asking for it, too, right? The nerve. Never mind the fact that sweater’s THE HOTNESS, these two just turned it into something entirely different. Someone call Gloria Steinem. Tell her the feminist movement just took 10 steps backward.
Oh, and Samantha and Miranda, which one of you do I send my third of the BFF necklace to?