Cursed Tongue: Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Posted by CursedTongue on October 28, 2007

There’s something about me, some vibe I generate, some secret superpower that attracts the desperately lonely, elderly and/or slightly insane. I don’t even have to make eye contact to attract these people. People that want to have a lengthy conversation with me about their lumbago.

Generally, I don’t mind. Unless the talk strays into Jesus on a tortilla territory. Or if the talker manages to be disconcerting even without the penchant for walking up to complete strangers and unfolding a manifesto on securing the borders. Like the soft-spoken woman that appeared at my elbow as we were waiting in line for pictures at the Howl-o-ween party at Petsmart. She appeared to have wandered in off the street. A sizable yellow stain on her white shirt and a close talker, she gave off more toxic fumes than a Ford Excursion.

I glanced behind her, hoping to find a caretaker. Nobody seemed to belong to the woman. I smiled and nodded as she told me about the Jack Russell Terrier that was smarter than herself. She talked about her other dog, a mongrel, and though she was complementary of mutts, the word mongrel managed to sound derogatory. Which I think means that I’ve been pretty thoroughly brainwashed by P.C. thugs. Of course, I might be a little defensive because I’ve always wondered what was so great about paying $500 for an inbred mall puppy, when you can adopt a grateful, homeless, mystery breed dog that’s already housebroken.

My new friend wondered about the nose harness on our own mutt, the Scroungy Coyote. Not up on the latest in dog training technology, she seemed to believe it was a torture device, or somehow part of her fairy princess costume. (The nose harness allows us to walk Coyote without her pulling so hard that we have to worry that she might pass out. It did not turn her into a fairy princess dominatrix.)

She went on to mention the astronomic cost of pet food at the Wal-Mart. Then she related her dislike for cats until she adopted four of them. I was tempted to point out that maybe having two dogs and four cats would explain the cost of pet food.

But instead I nodded and contemplated my own distaste for pets that revenge pee on beds, and the possibility that fifty years from now I might end up alone, taking in cats and disturbing bystanders with a story about how decades ago, I won first place for a watercolor at the state fair. Her words faded out as I pictured myself cornering an unsuspecting whippersnapper, whose discomfort I would fail to notice.

Then there was a beacon, a ray of hope, in the line that would not shrink. Lo, a woman appeared with an economy-sized jug of cat litter. She said it was time to go. Relieved, I returned the smoker with the yellow stain’s goodbye. Then I felt guilty. Then I felt as if I had been used as a babysitter. Where is my five bucks an hour? Wait, it’s probably more than that now.

And I’m going to need that money so I can have a shirt printed that reads, “Find someone who likes people, and tell them about your herd of cats.” Or perhaps I simply need to work on projecting my inner bile.

- Sarah Letnes

Filed Under: Cursed Tongue, Guest Blog - Comments: Be the First to Comment

Tags: humor, pets

top