I’m aware the post title sounds like a Dr. Seuss book, but it’ll all come together. Promise. I’m at that age where every family gathering starts with “Are you thinking about marriage? Kids?”, and every other Facebook post is an engagement shoot or babies arranged adorably in a basket to create the illusion that they’re that peaceful all the time. Those that don’t know me super well, allow me to explain my stance on children.
One summer home from college, my parents made me take my brother to the pet store to look at lizards, which was very clearly code for they wanted to get it in. So I took him. But came back with a beautiful little Bichon Frise named Miley. Because Miley Cyrus. The first time I abandoned her was when I went back to college. The second time was when I moved to Florida. The third time was when I came back and had to move into my own place. In my defense, by the second abandonment, by dad said I couldn’t take her because she was theirs. Since then, I’ve become known as “the horrible mother”, who left her “daughter” to be raised by “her grandparents”. I’m also no longer even remotely Miley’s favorite.
When I moved into my dungeon, I decided I wanted a fish tank because the running water would be soothing when I was falling asleep. (Florida deprived guys – work with me here) I bought a little tank from Amazon, and the water sound did the charm, but I realized I should probably put fish in there. So I bought two little babies and named them Omen and Yrod. Because Nemo & Dory. I followed all the water instructions before I put them in there and bought the right food. TWO DAYS LATER, I come home to find one stuck between the filter and the tank and one chillin at the bottom of the tank. I’ll never really know which was which because they looked exactly the fucking same. So now I still have the soothing water sounds, but if anyone needs fish food or tank filters, let me know.
I decided maybe I should get a cat. They’re easier than dogs because the walks in January and having to throw a toy only so they bring it back and then you get to throw it again – sounds terrible. My bf was against it because he has 2 cats and “it would give them too much anxiety to live with a new cat”. We don’t live together so fuck him, but he had a point, so I briefly considered his opinion. Then I went to a shelter and a little tabby hopped into my lap and clawed on. Which is fine cause I wanted one that would love me and not just hiss. When she jumped off, I realized I could donate a wig with what was left on my lap. If that was her only flaw, fine. But then, I find out they can live like 18 years. I’m 28 now, and this fucker was 8 months old. If we’re being realistic, between the amount of (legal) drugs I have to take, my stress levels, my alcohol consumption, and my strong desire to not live, I’m not fucking making it 18 years. So I can’t make that kinda commitment to an animal only to leave it stranded again. Miley’s been through enough.
This is why, my dear readers, I cannot possibly ever take care of an actual human being.