The four-footed one decided to stage her own form of protest against the injustice of an empty dog food dish. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fed, she had been fed less than an hour prior to the protest. As far as protests go, it was small both in venue and participants. As far as impact goes, sure it’s small and not going to reshape civilization or shake the world; however, it sure got my attention.
And no she did not get more food added to her bowl. She got listened to, and then moved when it became apparent she was digging her feet in. Literally digging them into the floor as she refused to move. Thankfully I can pick her up easily enough and relocate her to another place in the house. (Not without further protest on her part of course.)
Was I wrong to simply step in and assert my physical presence? Perhaps, but she was barking loudly for more food when she had been fed. I knew she wasn’t hungry. She just wanted more because a freshly opened bag of dog food, to her at least, is like heaven. And if I let her, she’d try to eat the whole bag all at once. Which wouldn’t be healthy. And I didn’t want to clean up the end result of consuming a large bag of food.
But I do applaud her for knowing her own mind and not being afraid to let me know what she was thinking. I love these traits in others and thrive on them in my person approach, however I seem to have an issue in embracing them in the four-footed one. And that’s not fair.
“And what will you be wearing” she asked with a smile in her voice. And I cringed, like I always do when you know that the person on the other side of this conversation is expecting that you will share his/her enthusiasm for dressing up in a costume and you just don’t want to do it.
I have yet to find a gentle way, a skillful way to inform these overly enthusiastic people about my lack of desire to dress up for things like Halloween or themed parties/conventions. In this case I had been asked to attend a conference, as a guest speaker, where it is not unusual for participants to dress up as their favorite legend of mythology.
I already knew what to expect from the participant side of things because a few years ago I attended one as a casual observer and witnessed way too many mythological beings in ill-fitting sheets, oddly placed and colored leaves, not to mention several people dressed up in various animal costumes. Thankfully no one on the panel was dressed up so when I accepted the invitation to be on the panel this year, I knew I was safe to be in “regular” clothes. Or so I thought, until I spoke with Tina.
Tina wanted to change things up, shake it up and make it more engaging for the participants. So, she had taken it upon herself to call the panel members and see if they wouldn’t “pretty please” dress up as some being from a myth. Her idea was that the participants would pay a small sum to guess who the panel members were supposed to represent. The person who correctly guessed all the panel members would then win half of the money collected with the other half going to charity.
Call me a stick in the mud, call me an old curmudgeon, but I was NOT dressing up in a costume of any sort. The last time I did that, well it was ages ago and wasn’t fun at all. So, I told Tina the only thing I was dressing up as was myself. The myth of my own personal identity. (Apparently this was not the answer she was seeking.)
I’ve spoken with a few of the other panel members and each of those people has assured me that they will not be dressing up either. As one gentleman put it, “I am a professional” and he felt that getting into a costume of any sort could “make mockery of the hard work and dedication it has taken to be taken seriously as a professional.” I tend to agree with him and cannot for the life of me understand why these “it will be fun people” feel it is completely acceptable to force their whims on the rest of us.
So stodgy panel member I shall be.
When I go grocery shopping I always get the cart with the squeaky wheel, not only squeaky, but also sticks a bit. Now I should point out that I don’t seek this type of cart put, rather it seems to find me.
Beloved says that squeaky carts with sticky wheels and I go together like peas and carrots. I’m not sure how I feel about this. I guess what I need to know first is am I the carrot or the pea? Then extra thing I need to know was which ones is better and why?
I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t compared me to the squeaky wheel or the sticky wheel. I’m pretty sure there are times he feels that I’m a very large, very squeaky and very stubborn wheel. Not that I wouldn’t deserve being called this because there are times that I’m squeaky, read that as whining, and stubborn.
Maybe it’s because of this idea that like can attract like I end up with a shopping cart much like me. Especially when you factor in how much I hate grocery shopping. In case you have any doubt about how much I hate grocery shopping, I can prove it to you this way. I have had an empty fridge in the house I’m living in for two weeks at a stretch. No seriously I have gone on the hungry side or bought take away food because I hate grocery shopping. I have to work up to going shopping and then I detest the length of the list.
The longer the list, the more I hate shopping. Yes I understand if I went more often the list would be shorter and thus less time in the store at any one trip, but it’s still trips to the store. I’d leave it all to Beloved, but you can’t alway rely on him to be able to do it.
I understand this is a “first world” problem, or a problem of luxury because I’m not having to plan around finances. I’m just planning around my discomfort. So really the sticky stubborn wheel and I deserve each other since it is of my own making.
When I was young, if I did not want to go somewhere, I found it was highly effective to drop like a stone to the floor. The drop itself was not enough as an adult might try to pick me up so I tried to suction myself onto the floor. (For the record I did not have suction cups, but any parent will attest to this amazing ability that young children have.)
While I might not have always won those battles, the adults in my life were fully aware that I did not want to do something. I’d the heavy artillery were required, I would commence screaming “No!” or something akin to that and bang my feet and fists on the ground.
As I got older, this behavior went from being simply unacceptable to just not happening anymore. I’m sure my parents were relieved when this stage passed by, but now and then I wish I could through a fit like that again. Sometimes there is nothing more effective than the most basic of tactics.
Okay so yes a full-grown female throwing herself on the floor and wailing no while beating her fists and stomping her feet would not be a pretty site. But the truth is protesting is hardly ever pretty. Passion isn’t all romance either. Both a protest and the passion behind a belief need to be given voice and strength via wailing and beating of fists.
Now if you will excuse me, I have an urge to drop to the floor and bang my feet. Oh my reason? Protesting winter. I feel passionate about not shoveling one more crumb of snow.