A Serious And Reflective Study

Sometimes I like to imagine what life was like in the preexistence.

I like to imagine that one day we were asked to get in a line and pick out our future bodies. I picture various cardboard boxes scattered around Heaven, filled with all sorts of body parts and then you got to pick. Long legs or short? Strong arms or flabby? Freckles? Moles? Do you mind if your midsection is a little thick or do you prefer this one over here? Obviously those athletically inclined chose the beefy models, while those with more artistic souls opted for complicated brains and underdeveloped pectorals.

As for me, I'm pretty sure I chose this nose on my face just to be stubborn, on account of how much I love to root for the underdog, and let's face it, you can't have a nose like mine and not be an underdog. If I were to add up the number of times I was teased about my nose in middle school it would be pretty dang depressing, those are the facts.

The reason I bring this up is that the other day the Vandals won again. I mean, shoot. Here is my question for the eternities: how is this happening?

In all of everything there exists no greater of an underdog than the University of Idaho athletic teams. Do you know what lives in Idaho? Potato farmers. Potato farmers are neither Ballers nor Shot Callers, you know. Think it over.

But we are six-and-one and so The Holbsbrain and his wife of wonder went to a home game for once. (Fairweather footballers.) I had so much fun. The Kibbie Dome is wonderful. It's a football field, inside. Weird.

I ate popcorn and used my zoom lens to spy on people in the stands. I asked The Holbs all sorts of wonderfully obnoxious questions about the rules and what are we cheering for this time? 

We won again. We won, and then I started to feel my interest wane ever so slightly . . . I love to love whatever is most pathetic at the time, and winners just don't need me anymore.

For instance: what would happen if I woke up tomorrow and I was five-foot-ten? I'd lose the ability to brag that I thrive in conditions of tragedy, which is seriously what gets me out of bed every day.

And it's not just the Vandals abandoning me in my hour of needing to love that which is unlovable. Let's talk for a minute about my dog, Sir Barnaby MacDufflepants. He is that one there in the black.

Barnaby MacDuff is everyone's favorite dog. He's not nearly as complicated and emotionally touched as my Peter Pan (who is the underdog of all underdogs), however this rightly makes Barnaby the lesser of my canines and as such I love him a lot to make up for it, as he is the underdog of my affections. 

Only now he's all handsome.

I took him to the groomer today as a sort of experiment. They charged me an arm and a leg but for once I didn't have to spend an entire day chasing after him with the clippers going stay still!

I certainly didn't expect that he'd come out of it looking like George Clooney!

Luckily Peter Pan is jealous of Barney's stylin new do and has been an awful grump to Barney all night, causing Barnaby to pout and me to feel, what is that? yes! the stirrings of maternal love for something that neeeeeds me!

And anyway he may be too handsome right now but that Barnaby MacDuff will never not be too dumb. At least I will always have that.

Post Script. Thank you everyone for being so kind to me this week. I can't tell you how much it means to a girl. I do hope you stick around.