When I think of unconditional love, I think of my dog Jolie.
I know I should probably think of Jesus, or my husband, or my parents…and I do. But the first
person dog that comes to mind is this little seven pound bundle of fur.
Why, you ask?
Because Jolie loves me when I get a horrendously bad haircut.
She loves me when I forget to take her outside.
She loves me when I watch Keeping up with the Kardashians in my underwear while eating half a block of cheese.
She loves me when I do something stupid or say something inappropriate, which is at least thrice daily.
She loves me when I smell bad. (I think she actually loves me more when I smell bad.)
She loves me when I have a constellation pimples in the shape of the McDonald’s golden arches above my eyebrows.
She loves me when I’m sick.
I’m going to stop now because it kind of sounds like I’m reciting wedding vows to my dog.
Well…maybe just one more.
Today she loved me when the most embarrassing thing that could ever possibly happen to anyone in the history of Zumba classes happened to me.
It is so humiliating, gross and generally upsetting that even I, the queen of “too much information”, refuse to share it with anyone other than my husband via text message.
You know it’s bad when Scott uses the word “yikes”.
Today I desperately needed that unconditional puppy love.
And my pooch did not disappoint:
Yesterday, I confessed a few things. And today? Today, I have one more confession:
Sometimes, when I’m having a really bad day, I’ll put Jolie in her crate, go outside for five minutes, and then come back in , just so I can get that reaction. (And yes, it’s just as intense after only five minutes in the crate.)
So yes…while I realize that someday I might actually have real children whom I love even more than my dog (if that’s humanly possible), I’m pretty sure they will be constantly embarrassed and annoyed by my…um…antics.
Especially when I volunteer to chaperone their Prom simply because their father won’t take me dancing and I just can’t go any longer without violently shaking my hips in public.
(I’m really going to try to not be that parent…but I think we all know its wired in my DNA.)
Now, for the sake of comparison, let’s imagine that dogs also go to the Prom. If I ever chaperoned Jolie’s prom, I’m pretty sure she could care less if I danced until I was so sweaty, it looked as if someone had thrown me in the punch bowl. In fact, I could show up to the dog prom completely naked, aside from a giant rainbow clown wig, and Jolie would still insist on staying by my side the entire evening and growling whenever someone else got too close to mom and her clown wig.
That my friends, is unconditional love.
Granted, this scenario will never take place in a million years…but you catch my drift.
Oh…and if Jolie ever does go to Prom, I have a dress all picked out for her.
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