August 2021 – Memoirable Moments

This is the guide we give to anyone who decides they’re willing to watch our dramatic dog overnight. Many people have told me it’s great reading material, so here you go:

Food:

He gets one scoop for breakfast and one for dinner – he eats breakfast anytime before noon (because we are neglectful and forget) and dinner anytime after five (probably whenever you’re eating – he likes to pretend he’s a person and eat with you). A lot of the time he’ll refuse to eat his food because he was raised on the streets where he got delicious meat scraps all the time, and now he thinks he’s too good for dog food.

Water:

He’s bad at drinking water. We think he never learned how to do it properly (or maybe learned from a cat). He’ll also try to chug a bunch of water right after you take him outside before bed like a toddler, so stay vigilant.

Walks:

We try to walk him every 3-5 hours (but he can go up to 6 or 7 if necessary). He’s usually good about just going out whenever you wake up (on weekends he turns into a teenager and doesn’t wake up until 10 am).

He’s fine sleeping in his bed at night, but he’ll likely try to sneakily crawl into a human’s bed in the middle of the night and situate himself in the nooks and crannies of a body until you can’t move. You can put up with this or you can not put up with this (we’re pretty 50/50).

Sometimes he’ll start hacking like he’s going to throw up everywhere, but 99% of the time he’s just being dramatic.

If you pass a skateboarder while walking, he’ll wait until it’s right beside you and then try to attack it.

His fears: vacuums, brooms, blenders, drills, balls, basically anything that makes a noise or moves, large puddles, bouquets of roses, saxophone players, his own farts, loneliness.

His loves: cuddling, long walks where he gets to cross streets, chasing squirrels and rabbits, dog ice cream, playing hide and seek, butt rubs, howling out the window, sitting on your feet, Watermelon Sugar by Harry Styles.

In sixth grade, I got my very first boyfriend. We’ll call him Reid. I honestly don’t remember how Reid and I started dating (and by “dating” I mean messaging each other our deepest, darkest secrets for hours on AIM every night and then barely knowing how to speak to one another at school), but I do know it was around the holidays, because I received a lot of gifts.

For Christmas, he gave me a small penguin inside of a candle box, which I appreciated, because then the penguin smelled very strongly of cinnamon. For Valentine’s Day, I got a small pink teddy bear and a card with a penguin on it giving a hug (if this wasn’t already apparent, I was obsessed with penguins). At some point, he gave me earrings (probably penguins), and I only remember this because he spent an entire recess relentlessly searching the grass for one that I accidentally dropped. I also remember not having the heart to tell him that my ears weren’t even pierced.

Reid was an absolutely perfect first boyfriend. I mean really, the kindest and most caring boy you’d ever meet. But he was also very clingy. And short. I probably could have dealt with those things individually, but the combination started to get to me.

He always wanted to be next to me – on the bus, on the gym bleachers, at the lunch table. You name it. And if we weren’t together in person, we had to be messaging each other. I like to think that now, as an almost-27-year-old, this wouldn’t bother me as much. So the boy enjoys my company, how flattering. But middle-school me had shit to do (rewatch March of the Penguins? Take care of my Tamagotchi? Bedazzle my weekend jean shorts? I don’t know), and she needed some space.

Things were going just fine, but then Reid got greedy. He stopped being satisfied with our classic little middle school romance and needed to go on a real-person date.

So we ended up at Tripp’s, an Applebee-esque restaurant. And by “we,” I don’t just mean the two of us. I mean me, Reid, my mother, Reid’s mother, my little brother, and Reid’s little sister. “That’s not so bad, Emily, you could just let your mothers do the talking and chill out while you munch on your chicken fingers.” No no no.

To simulate a real date, Reid and I were told to sit at our own table for two. Our mothers and siblings sat at their own table, about five feet away. Close enough to eavesdrop, but not close enough to be of any real help in this dire situation. At one point, an elderly man walked by with his wife and exclaimed, “Look at that Eileen, young love” and then heartily laughed.

Was this an ideal way to spend my Saturday? No. Was I sweating through my Limited Too shirt due to embarrassment and panic? Obviously. But it could have all been forgotten if Reid hadn’t ordered the potato soup.

First of all, I remember being incredibly freaked out by the fact that this middle schooler ordered potato soup as his meal. I was expecting a burger, or grilled cheese, or even just a heaping plate of fries. Potato soup was foreign to me. I did not know this boy who ordered potato soup.

Get over it, I thought. Maybe he’s very sophisticated. But then the potato soup dribbled down his chin, the chunks of potato stuck in place on his face, and that was too much for me. That was the end.

Our breakup did not go well. I felt so guilty and upset about shattering his heart that I physically gave myself strep throat (which was actually quite convenient, since I got to skip school for a few days), and Reid was so anguished that he signed up to sing Daniel Powter’s “Bad Day” in the school talent show. Every day in choir practice, I got to watch Reid belt out some heavy hitting lines very passionately and very off-key while everyone glared in my direction:

Where is the moment we needed the most?
You kick up the leaves, and the magic is lost
They tell me your blue sky’s faded to gray
They tell me your passion’s gone away
And I don’t need no carrying on
Daniel Powter/A distressed Reid

And to make matters worse, Reid’s mother (who I was sure hated my guts) was the school librarian. So naturally, I couldn’t walk into the library ever again. Which was a real problem for me, because I LOVED the library. You’d think I would have thought about my love of books before going and seducing the librarian’s son.

So that, everyone, is why you shouldn’t date in middle school. Or, as a more important rule, avoid potato soup. No one needs to see you eat that.