Suburban Madness

The I and T in my Meyers-Briggs’ INTJ were firing on all cylinders the other day.

Picture this: it’s 5:00 AM.  I don’t need to set an alarm anymore because Rip’s internal clock tells him it’s time for a walk.  Fine, that’s cool, I’m not, like, mad or anything that the two of us are able to greet the newspaper delivery dude every morning (who, by the by, drives a total creeper van. Beware, kids!).

But, still, it’s 5:00 AM, and there’s only so much an un-caffeinated misanthrope should be expected to tolerate.

I spot my neighbor and her Yorkie from across the parking lot.  She, in her nightgown and me in my University of Michigan gym shorts and a hoodie.

I know this lady’s gonna want to talk; she always does.  But it’s 5:00 AM…and I don’t.  I just want to walk my dog, pick up his poop, and go home to get ready for the day.  With that in mind, I plot the rest of our course around the complex so as to avoid any human interaction whatsoever.  I just don’t care to talk to Yorkie Mom, thankyouverymuch. If it’s not a slumber party, then there’s no justifiable reason for two people in their pajamas to talk to one another.

Whew.  Rounding the last corner toward home, I think I’ve done it.  Success!  No weird small talk with people you don’t know, whose only available topic of conversation always seems to revolve around how big Ripley’s gotten.

Then, as we’re approaching the sidewalk in front of our door, I see her.  Yorkie Mom and Dog are just standing there in front our apartment, waiting for us.

“I’m sorry,” acknowledging she has a problem with petting cute puppies, but just can’t quit.  “I just wanted to see little Rippy!”


What the what? If you know you’re doing something socially inappropriate…don’t do it!  At this point, the rational part of my brain is blowing up. What a whackadoo! This woman has actually stopped her normal routine and has gone out of her way to wait outside of my house, just to pet my dog…and it’s 5:00 in the morning!

“Yeah, no problem,” I respond, not knowing–and honestly without having enough synapses firing–what to say.

I give her two minutes with the dog, and I may or may not have made any effort to disguise my sheer disgust at her completely innocent love of animals.

What a monster.  5:00 AM!



A typical fight in our household:


The other day as I was walking Ripley, I ran into one of our neighbors.  Pleasantries were had (as every dog owner must awkwardly experience).  Then the neighbor lays this one on me:

“Sooo, are the two of you interior decorators?”

Uhh, is this suburban code for something?  Is she asking what I think she’s asking?  Is this like the time the American Airlines flight attendant asked Lance and I if we were brothers? (Not to single you out, AA; Southwest flight attendants have asked the same thing.)

Aren’t these subtle probing questions about somebody’s sexuality a thing of the past? Why don’t you just be up front about it and ask if Kylie Minogue is in my Recently Played on iTunes?

And, really, considering that we co-habitate a one-bedroom apartment with a dog and a cat and only one car…no combination of those facts were enough to confirm your suspicions, lady?  Sheesh!