“I am so lucky that I get to come home to you,” I sigh, as I fall dramatically back onto the couch. He comes over to me, and gives me a soft little kiss as I start to complain. “Not only was work absolutely awful today, but Karen monopolized my entire lunch break talking about her douchey boyfriend for the millionth time. If that wasn’t bad enough, I forgot my running shoes at home, so I wasn’t able to go to the gym, and Starbucks gave me full fat milk, and it just wasn’t my fucking day.” He sat there silently and stoically, taking in every word and complaint that came out of my mouth; not ready to pass judgement, but eager to hear about the mundane shit that I thought was the end of the world. “I am so hungry, I need to eat something immediately,” I walk into the kitchen, and he’s immediately one step behind me, ready to indulge in whatever junk food that I choose.
No, unfortunately, I’m not talking about some perfect man, who’s willing to listen to every word I say, and, more importantly, eat whenever I want to. I’m talking about my eight pound, long haired chihuahua, Bruiser. After writing for a public forum for over a year, and airing my stories about my boy troubles, and, in general, what a mess I am for the world to see, I’m finally ready to share with all of you the most important man in my life, and what quite possibly might be my healthiest and best relationship.
Every girl out there is seemingly obsessed with telling the world that she’s dating or marrying her best friend. While this is fucked on a whole separate level; since the primary purpose of having a best friend is to have someone that you can constantly, and confidentially whine about your significant other to (which isn’t doable if they’re the same fucking person). But do you know whats even better than a bitchy BFF who takes every opportunity to remind you that your boyfriend aint shit, and never even attempts to hide her agenda? A dog. Trust me – its not diamonds that are a girls best friends, its dogs. Mad that you did poorly on a test you didn’t study for? Angry that you don’t have any money after you blew it all online shopping while drunk? Your clueless puppy doesn’t understand anything besides the fact that you’re sad and in need of cuddles (and most likely wine).
Dogs don’t understand that “Saturday is for the boys.” Saturday, like every other day, is for hanging out with you. Dogs aren’t able to like that bitch’s bikini photo on Instagram. Instead, you’re able to have complete control over your dog’s account (isn’t it every girl’s dream to have complete control over her man’s Insta?). Dogs are the ideal relationship – they worship you, you can train them to listen to every word you say, and they always look cute when they’re by your side.
Boyfriends will come and go – and in between the comings and goings, they’re likely to create stress and drama. Do you know the only time Bruiser has ever created stress in my life? During his yearly vet appointments, where the judgy vet reminds me that he’s “on his way to becoming fat,” which causes me to go into crisis mode, since, let’s be honest – everything I eat, he eats too.
Now, I hate to put a damper on this dog-appreciation moment, however, I have to remind you that dogs are a lot of work. You have to walk, feed, and overall care for them… which, come to think of it, seems like considerably less work than a boyfriend. I find it heartbreaking that I see more girls with un-cute, untrained boyfriends who behave badly, than I do with cute, trained dogs that behave perfectly. So stop stressing about you boy problems: that douchy guy who left you on read, that cute, promising, guy that dropped out of a prestigious business program to pursue a career as a DJ, and that guy who really wants to be with you… and half of your sorority sisters. Get a dog. Trust me on this one.
And boys? Watch out, because you’ll never be able to compete with my puppy..