I keep a tiny notebook on my desk so that I can write down things before I forget them. This is not a sly compliment trying to pay to myself – it’s not like I have so many ideas that it’s hard to keep track of them OR that my ideas are worth jotting down in a tiny notebook in the first place.
It’s just that I forget things, like, a lot.
So what I’m trying to do, really, is to keep my absent mindedness in check. Or maintain a record of it to prove that, Hey, at least I tried.
Amidst gems such as “try foot cream”, “Italian sausage next time”, and “Renee Russo, where is she??” I have noticed a disturbing trend in my thoughts about the future. They seem to orbit around the names of dogs and children I might decide to have, or which will be forced upon me by happy accident or dumb, blindsiding “luck”.
Based on the above, I have come to the conclusion that my priorities are that:
1) My dogs will be groomed into fine, upstanding individuals.
2) My children will grow up into fine, upstanding individuals fast, or not at all.
Penelope The Wonder Dog.
A Boy Named XANADU.
The dogs will be prim and proper purebreds. No expense will be spared to show the People my devotion to the best of the best of the dog world: Chinese Crested Powder Puffs, Pugs, Bouiver de Flanders, Weimaraners and, of course, the magnificent Standard Poodle.
The children will stand as proof of my enlightenment as a Parent of Today, as evident by the pop culture references, gender confusion and hipster irony of their monikers: “Lebanon is so much more affecting than Madison or Logan. Truly, your children are effective,” the People will say. “The apple falls right under the tree,” will be my keen response.
The dogs will be bred with Mendelian precision, to forge them into the exceptional specimens – canine royalty of the highest stock – they will be. For the sake of their breeds, desirable traits will be sought after with passion and vigor; flaws and faults will be culled without hesitation and, admittedly, a certain animated glee.
I will the G-O-D of D-O-G.
For their own sake (and ours) the children will be freed from the constraints of our tried, BORING social norms. Free in their free will and spirits to be…whatever it is children are.
I will be…there as well.
Far be it for me to interfere and get in the way of their DEVELOPMENT.
Of course, names like Abraham, Lucy and NOSFERATU are really only for formal occasions. Each dog and/or child will therefore have a jazzy nickname in order to encourage a sense of FUN and EXCITEMENT in our everyday lives.
“Here Abe, here Lu-Lu, here RATU!” I will yell from the back porch.
Yes. We’ll be living The Good Life, thanks to my inadvertent foresight.
Actually, Stephen’s pretty okay with OBSIDIAN. He gushes: “We can call him (HER) ‘Obi’ as in Wan…Kenobi!” That alone would have evaporated my zeal for the name right then and there, but what will I care?
I’ll be out walking my beautiful Penelope.