Good Boy

I've considered telling this story time and again, and every time my little fingers start tapping away, I inevitably wipe it all out and tell another in it's place. I even struggled to tell my closest friends for months after it's happening. You see, when I tell a story about the crazy events of my life I prefer sentences that end with 'went batshit crazy' begin with 'The day he/she', not so much 'The day I'. Sure, there may be a small, tiny, miniscule, evil little part of me that might still get a big smile and warm fuzzies whenever I think about this particular event, but I prefer to keep the wicked side of me kept locked safely away in a dark corner deep in my brain and bring it out only in situations where nothing else will do.

This was most definitely one of those situations.

To be able to fully understand this day, you need two brief histories. First, I have two dogs. They're spoiled rotten and I love them dearly. We've established guidelines for the times they allow me to pretend I'm in charge. One of those times is when they come in from doing their business. They know before they are allowed to come back inside I expect them to sit and enter one at a time. It works for us. Second, I was involved with a man who was a horrible person that made me endure embarrassment far beyond what any person deserves no matter her ability to attract the unusual. When it all came crashing down, I had a horrible time trying to get him to stay away. Sure, I could have called the police and fixed things that way, but I had only just moved into my house and didn't want to be that neighbor. So, on the days when I'd come home and find his sorry ass making himself at home again, I'd turn on the horrible bitch in me and keep her firmly in place until he left a few hours or days later. (Truth be told, there were some days I'd almost hope to see him simply so I had an outlet for a really bad day.) After so long, I was shocked that he kept coming back. Don't get me wrong, I rock, and I know I do, I've probably forever damaged someone somewhere, but he should have long before forgotten my rockingness.

As my luck would have it, I was having a perfectly lovely day until I got home and discovered him here. I hadn't expected him even a little bit. Normally there'd be some kind of warning. Relentless phone calls, a number of drive bys, or a little cartoon bluebird singing his little song as I walked by only to look at me, laugh, and spit in my face. I hadn't fully put my bitch on. I had to gear up. I was coming up blank! How could that be happening?! In order to compose myself, I growled at him to put the dogs out. A few minutes later, I growled at him to let the dogs in.

Out of habit, and because I knew he never followed the rules, I followed him to the door so I could give the dogs their 'sit, stay, enter' commands. That's when genius struck like a furious bolt of lightning. I held the door and told Max, “Sit! Stay! Enter!” and closed the door. I told Scrappy, “Sit! Stay! Enter!” and I once again closed the door. The ex came to the door. I looked at him and said, “Sit!” He responded with a look that made me wish so badly that I'd had a camera and said something like “har har, I'm not a dog” and tried to pull the door open. I laughed because I can be a determined bitch when the mood strikes. I told him to sit again. He started to throw a tantrum and told me he wasn't sitting, he's not a dog. I laughed and told him only good dogs are allowed to enter my house, and that by my definition he was indeed a dog...did he not expect me to provide a roof over his head, food for his belly, and expect to run free and hump whatever stray mutt he could find? He began to sulk because he realized I was indeed serious. Then he got angry. Then, for the love of all that is holy, he sat! HE SAT! Like a dog! To get into my house. I never actually thought he'd listen. I figured he'd get pissed, storm off, and go stay with a friend like I would expect any person in that situation to do. I was beyond amazed. I let him in. And God help me, I loved it! I was happy, even with him in the same space as me. I couldn't have that...I knew I couldn't allow him to think I could be in a good mood while he was around so I went out. A few hours later, he called me. He told me he was leaving, that he couldn't believe I'd treat him like a dog. I told him that was better than he deserved.

Given all of the fighting, all of the arguments, and all of my pleading for him to just leave me alone, it was one simple word that did it. Sit. That was the last time he showed up at my house. It took me well over a year to stumble onto that little gem, and given my ability to stumble, I'm shocked it took so long, but sometimes that old cliché, better later than never, holds true.

I hope you all don't think less of me for sharing this with you-well, maybe not sharing it with you, but that I actually did it. Depending on the day, I convince myself I should have been medicated that day because I can be pretty hard on myself, or I can tell you to smile and enjoy it because it was one of the proudest moments of my life.

I needed him to be gone so I could get back to life and he finally was...gone. It was like a new person invaded me.

Take my advice people. If you are in a bad relationship, or trying to get back into a bad relationship and the other person starts to give you commands like you're a dog...save your dignity! Throw a very public fit, throw yourself on the ground and have a tantrum to rival that of a three year old, but do not sit like a dog. Trust me, if you've reached that point, there is no turning back and chances are you will completely wipe out any shred of respect that may have been left for you as a fellow human being. Of course, if you want to provide one less happiness to that person, go ahead and sit. I assure you, there will be days that person will savor it. :)