Sunday, December 13, 2015

Dog's shopping skills need to be more fully developed

There are only 12 days until Christmas and yet, as usual, the dog hasn't even done any shopping. It's all "me, me, me" with Skipper.

Terriers. Sheesh. You say "Target" or "mall" to them, they just look at you. You say "cookie," they are all ears.

I long for the day when I can rent one of those driverless cars, stick my dog in it, having pre-trained him to fight the Christmas shopping crowds, snag everything on my list, and bring me home a boba.

I live many male stereotypes, but the one I live most fully is a dislike of shopping. Oh, I can buy milk, but ask me to use my taste and discernment to pick out a birthday present and I get the eye twitch.

Do you know how many options there are out there for birthday presents? Dozens! Dozens of options. I want two. Give me two choices, I can flip a coin. Like a man.

Options are every man's downfall. I shopped for my wife's birthday recently. Here's how it went:

(Inner dialogue is not to scale)

Me: That necklace is pretty.

Me: Wait. She already has one just like that. Doesn't she?

Me: I don't know. I don't pay attention.

Me: What about this scarf? She likes purple and green.

Me: We live in L.A. She could wear it, like, three days a year.

Me: I don't care if she wears it. Just that she likes it.

Me: Good point. Get this painted pebble too.

Me: What's it for?

Me: I don't know! To show that you remember she likes little painted things. Isn't that enough?

Me: Yes. No. Yes. Probably. Yes. I'm pretty sure.


Skipper needs to start pulling his weight, I am telling you. There was a time when being adorable was enough, but that was the '90's. Yes, I'm writing about you, dog. (He's lying in a patch of sun checking my hands for treats.) You need to learn how to shop, boyo. Google's almost got the driverless car thing down. We need to get you fitted for little shopping basket saddlebags.

Dude, my hands are empty, look in my eyes, buddy. Up here. Look up here. Read my lips: Mommy likes purple and green. She likes little painted things.

Crap, you're color blind, aren't you?

You know what? Lie there. Fine! Pretend it's the 20th Century!

Ohhh, come here. I can't stay mad at you.




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