Proof of Premature Insanity

For years I have lived under the assumption that I am feminist, hear me roar.  I also believe that you can tell a lot by just looking at what books people have in their houses.  This theory was later supported when I watched an amateur detective reality show On Demand for the Discovery channel. 

On my bookshelves I have a few Gloria Steinem's literary accomplishments, Transforming a Rape Culture, The Bitch in the House (a collection of essays), and Bitch by Elizabeth Wurtzel.  Do you see the theme emerging?  I also have a wide variety of therapy text books, a few of my very favorite novels, the complete works of Shakespeare, a collection of children's books, and some other spiritural/self-help selections.  One of my best friends noted that he would hate to be next to me with one of my Bitch books and his sister (a specialist in anti-terrorism) on an airplane. 

When I got back to Utah for Christmas my mother made the comment that I must be ready for a child.  I felt a little dumb founded at first until I looked at the evidence.

1)  I brought Edgar.  It actually was cheaper for us to fly the dog than to board him, so that could be explained.  We first thought about putting him in the cabin with us.  So after trying to get him to sit still so we could measure the dog and a Petco search I arrived home with a very cute (but not Paris Hiltonesque) carryon.  Edgar became accustomed to it and we were very happy.  When I called the airline to confirm his passanger status, they told me that it was a no go.  There apparently is a rule that only 2 dogs are allowed in the cabin at a time and he would have to go cargo.  I vowed I would find those bastards that thought their fido was more cabin worthy than my Edgar.  I then began to fret about Edgar in cargo.  Would he be warm?  Would he get lost?  Would he be scared?  J pointed out that a few hours in a box would be better than days in a small kennel (aka box). 

2)  Edgar sent my parents "Dear Santa Paws" letters.  Ok, in all fairness I did the first one in jest after a few glasses of port the same night we set up the Christmas tree.  J was the one who created Edgar's own email account (Edgar-dog@comcast.net).  And HE was the one who did the second letter (although I did help with the content.) 

3)  Edgar arrived in a very cute red turtleneck sweater.  (See the cold argument from point 1.)  It is winter and I didn't think too much about it to be honest.  My brother and I used to dress Henry, our first Scottie, up in old tee shirts and little boys whitey-tightys (with the tail out the hole) and parade him around the neighborhood on walks.  Henry felt fancy.  Edgar's sweater was a definite step up.  The vet initially cleared him up to 32 degrees.  When we checked into the airport here in Indy, we had a very concrete thinker airline employee "helping" us.

"It says its 28 degrees in Salt Lake right now."  She informed us and then just stared.

"Uh huh."  I said, failing to meet her logic.  "Outside its 28.  He'll be in the plane."

"28 degrees."  She repeated Rainman style.  "This says 32." Pointing to the health certificate.

"We had no formal discussion.  Its winter.  Its cold.  I'm certain he'll be fine.  You can call the vet."  J could hear the irritation in my voice and began to rub my back.

"28 degrees is different from 32."  She repeated showing her brainiac skills.  I wasn't about to point out that it was 28 at 5:00 PM and it would drop by the time we actually got to Salt Lake so she would then have to take that into consideration.  Edgar in the meantime is panting away furiously as the damn sweater is making him hot.

She ended up calling the vet and then putting her on the phone with me.  I wasn't the one who had a problem and needed her to clear things up.  However, I was the one talking with her.  Thank God, Dr. Cara seemed dumbfounded as much as I was.  J later pointed out that the airlilne representative was just doing her job.  Whatever.

One of those bastards with some stupid maltese checked in ahead of us as the carry on.  The sinile man kept telling me about a dog, "you know, the kind that General Patton had," was the meanest sons-of-bitches he ever saw in his neighborhood and by the way, what kind of dog do I have?

3)  Edgar's crate was decorated.  See point #1's argument about getting lost on the airline.  I read online that if you can make the crate look rediculous, it will stand out and will be less likely to get lost.  I spent a worthy $30 at the craft store and drank some home brew listening to Christmas carols getting it ready the night before.

However, what really remained was some crazy looking lady with her pampered pooch in a red sweater and rediculously decorated crate who wrote letters in colored marker with her left hand on behalf of her dog to a fictitious character derived from another fictitious character who chimney dives.  What looked out of place was me holding a feminist book.  Was this foreshadowing?  Was I going to be one of those moms who come to soccer games in matching jerseys and healthy snacks like oranges for the whole team?  Was I going to become a master of doing my daughter's hair in fancy braids when all I can do to my own hair is a ponytail?  Maybe it was just projection on my parent's behalves?  They were the ones who had the letters posted to the fridge much like a grand childs. 

Standing in the airport watching the various looks of "oh how cute" to sheer horror as I held Edgar, it dawned on me.  I just looked at J and said, "Oh my God, I'm turning into one of those ladies.  But I'm not old enough to be one of those crazy old ladies."

He said, "Hon, you aren't turning into one, you already are one of those ladies, you are just a bit premature with your craziness."