Mary and Daphne #170

It’s a heccin good thing I’m independent and reliant on no one but myself, cuz otherwise when I rolled over in bed and didn’t find my comfort person, I would’ve been very upset. But nope, not me. I was merely curious where she went until my very pretty ears (so says the person who nibbles on them) and very good hearing (so says the same person who likes to bring that up when I’ve allegedly not been listening) detected a soft sound wafting up the stairs from our living room.

I tip-toed downstairs in the dark and heard the dulcet tones of my Mary singing.

Goodnight, my angel
Now it's time to dream
And dream how wonderful
Your life will be
Someday your child may cry
And if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart
There will always be a part of me

My Mary sings very well, though I’m not sure if that’s objectively true or I just love her so much and stuff that I just think she sings very well (she does everything very well, even the things she can’t do, so … maybe biased?). I turned the corner into our living room and there she was, sitting next to a sleeping puppy wrapped in a blanket. Mary couldn’t have not noticed me when I came in, but she didn’t stop singing.

I sat down next to her and waited for her to be done before whispering, “Do you sing that song to everyone their first night living with you?”

“You wake this puppy, Daphne Ann, and I’ll spank your bare bottom,” was her reply. Hmm. So … wasn’t expecting that. I mean, I was whispering. Granted, I’m not great at whispering, which apparently is a skill I haven’t mastered, but I wasn’t any louder than Miss Mary Sing-Song.

“Rude,” I whispered back even more softly.

“She just fell asleep again.”

“I feel kinda bad for her,” I said. “She must miss her mom and brothers and sisters so much. And she was shaking so hard almost all the way home.” I leaned my head on Mary’s shoulder and held her arm. “But I feel happy for her, cuz she has you.” And I’m an expert on how awesome it is to have Mary. Makes me shudder just thinking about it.

“She has you too.” And o my gawd, cuz Mary turned and kissed my hair. O heck with the heccin feels. Don’t-wake-the-puppy-internal-squee!

“So do you sing that song to everyone on the first night they move in with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You sang me that song the first night we lived together. In bed, before we fell asleep.”

“I didn’t remember what song it was. I guess I do, since you two are the only ones I’ve ever lived with. Doesn’t make you jealous, does it?”

“Heehee. No.” At least, I don’t think so. Not yet. Not that I ever get jealous. Really.

“Tell me more about that night. Our first night living together,” Mary asked me. I’m a raconteuse, and and she likes my raconteusing.

“We spent the whole day moving my stuff into storage and your apartment, and we were sweaty and gross.”

“Mhmm.”

“And your neighbor across the hall was super helpful cuz he was so obviously wanting to ask me out.”

Mary giggled. “Poor Joshua. The man had no gaydar at all.”

“Yeah, but as a consolation prize he got to go to bed thinking about what the lesbian neighbors were doing. Not that I’m judging cuz that’s the same thing I’d be doing if we had lesbian neighbors.”

“My hypersexual Daffodil.”

“I’m not hypersexual, Mary. I’m homosexual.”

She let out a “Ha!” before stifling herself down to a suppressed chuckle, but not before she snorfed (snort-laughed; I make portmanteaus sometimes). “We can’t wake the puppy,” she whispered again.

“Then stop snorfing,” I whispered back. “Snort-laughing. I made a new word just now.” Just got that out there preemptively cuz Mary had huh-what? face.

“What happened next?”

“We ordered Gino’s and ate pizza and drank beer on the balcony.”

“And you waved hello to everybody who walked by,” Mary added.

“I was getting to know my new neighbors.”

“You’re normally much more shy.”

“I’d had a beer and a half.”

“Lightweight.”

“Yep. And then when we were done eating, we crashed. Completely out of energy as soon as the food hit our bellies.”

“We took a shower together.”

“No funny business.”

“And we got in bed, and you appointed yourself the big spoon.”

“You appointed yourself the little spoon.”

“More like I just didn’t resist. I like being the big spoon sometimes.”

“You’re too little, Daffy,” she chuckled. She doesn’t mean my size when she says that.

I gave her my patented offended-but-not-really-and-love-you-muchly glare. “Then I’ll be the koala and you be the tree. Anyway, you had your arms around me and sang me that song.”

Mary turned and kissed my hair again. “You are, you know.”

“What?”

“My angel. That’s what you are.”

“No you,” I answered cuz she so heccin is! Mary, guardian angel, ninja, sorceress, coyote, computer something or other, love of my life. Love. Of. My. Life. Squeeee!

We sat in silence for a moment watching our puppy sleep. We have a puppy together. Still hard to believe, like woah, hey teen bride, that’s such a big step for a married couple in their thirties. You sure you're ready?

And so much cuteness! I had already made peace with that fact that until the dog reached her awkward adolescent phase, I wouldn’t be the cutest thing in the house.

“You were awfully cute today at the rescue,” Mary told me as though she can read my mind. She might be able to; she is a sorceress, as I’ve said. Would explain how she always stays a couple steps ahead of me despite my preternatural knack for strategizing and subterfuge. If I wasn’t a homemaker, I’d probably be a spymaster or something. Yep, not a super spy, but the super spy’s boss cuz I’m just that damn good. Really, not counting all the times I’ve gotten caught doing things I was supposed to be doing, but those don’t count because reasons so shush. But back to the rescue.

“They swarmed me all at once. I was knocked off my feet,” I reminded her. She must’ve forgotten cuz I told her that at the rescue. She should’ve known; I mean, she saw me get swarmed by all those puppers and doggos. Not like I took a dive. Um, really.

“Really,” Mary asked skeptically cuz she’s a skeptic. A Doubting Thomas named Mary. “Because to me it looked like maybe you were hoping to have puppies crawling all over you and licking your face.”

“Who wouldn’t?” I’ve never wanted to be at the bottom of a pile before, but so many puppies! It’s like the physical manifestation of uwu just all over you with the terminal adorability and puppy breath and puppy toes and big puppy eyes and they’re SO SOFT OMG! Anyhoo…

“You know you flashed your diaper to that woman?”

“Aw geez.” That stings. “Seriously?” Why’d she hafta tell me that?

“Super seriously. Your skirt rode almost all the way up while you were rolling around on the ground.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Nope. I just saw her do a double take, but she didn’t say anything. I didn’t think you’d want me making an even bigger scene by saying something like, ‘Daffodil, what did we say about showing strangers your pampers? That’s not how you’re supposed to tell me you’re wet.’”

“You wanted to, though, didn’t you?” I’m on to her.

“I so wanted to.” It’s almost like she gets sexually excited by embarrassing me. But how weird would that be, right? (So damn wonderfully weird, and I’m the same kind of weird and that’s just one of the many ways our souls fit together. Sigh …)

“Thanks for not telling me,” I told her. “I’d have been too embarrassed to enjoy picking out our puppy together after that.”

A lot to pick from, and I said to the woman, “Are these all of them?”

“There’s one still inside. She’s shy.”

“Can we see her?”

“Of course. The shy ones always get picked last, but they outgrow it with the right family.”

And Mary, brushing the dust and grass off me, put her arm around me, and we followed the woman inside. (Know what stinks? A room where nine puppies live.) We sat down on the floor near the shy puppy, and we called to it and patted the floor and held out a treat and a toy … and she didn’t budge.

“What do you think,” Mary asked me.

“I think we should pick her.”

“My dad always said you should let your dog pick you,” Mary said, nodding toward across the room to the trembling puppy.

“Yeah, but it’s just because she’s scared of strangers. We won’t be strangers by tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mhmm. If you are. It was your idea.”

Mary looked me right in the eye and made her you’re-too-sweet face at me. “You don’t want her to get picked last, and you wanna be the one who helps her come out of her shell.”

“I want us to help her come out of her shell.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, “but it’s literally all I can do to keep just a little of you in your shell.”

“Not even. It’s all I can do to keep you from running away with what’s left of my shell.” It sure as heck wasn’t my idea to spank me in dressing rooms at the mall (or the many, many times and places thereafter … well, some of them were my idea … okay, insistence, but whatever).

And that’s how we picked out the puppy. “You think of a name yet,” I asked Mary.

“Still not sure.”

“Me neither. Should we try to put her back in her crate,” I yawned.

“She’ll wake up and start crying again if we do.”

“She’s gotta get used to it at some point.”

“Yeah, but she’s had a hard enough day. I’ll stay down here if you wanna go back up to bed.”

“How about I bring a couple pillows down?” I got halfway to the stairs and turned around, looking at Mary looking at the puppy. I resolved to relent: if she wants to call herself a dog mom, I won’t make fun. Having things to take care of makes her so happy. I want my Mary to always be so happy.