Suzanna Danna

I’m currently wallowing in self pity and a mixture of selfishness and angst.

Happy Birthday to me.

It’s all really no big deal of course, and I am probably (actually I am most likely) blowing this whole thing completely out of proportion but ... dammit, I’m cranky.

Let’s talk positives first.

We’ve discussed my love for Etsy.com yes? Yes. And because my husband listens and because I am not passive aggressive and or expect him to read my mind... I sent him a link to my favorites from Etsy and also another link with the word, “Want.”

I went to San Antonio Thursday afternoon for the shortest stay ever (less than 24 hours for a planning meeting on Friday) and was home before 8 o’clock p.m. Friday evening. Mister met me at the door in his t-shirt and boxers (because I like it like that) and was practically hopping from foot to foot with his excitement because my presents had come in the mail while I was out of town.

He sat me on the couch and opened a packet in front of me and told me to close my eyes. When I opened them he had a beautiful antique silver spoon bracelet in his hands. He put it on me and I was surprised to find that I was able to slide it on and off of my wrist like a bangle. It is so pretty and the pattern is from like 1949 or something.

Then he sprinted into the dining room and retrieved another gift from the table and made me close my eyes again. I did so and heard him wrestling with bubble wrap. I wanted to open my eyes because it sounded like he was fighting with the package and I wanted to see, but I kept them closed and because I am a freak and he loves me anyway... he held the gift up for me to smell.

I sniffed.

And sniffed again.

The fragrance of oil paints and varnish wafted up my nostrils and I asked to open my eyes. In front of me was this gorgeous diptych with all the rich colors that we have in our home. It is so pretty. Lookit....

See? Preeeeeeeeeeeeeetttty.

It took us an hour and a half to hang them just off the foyer going into the living room. And I wasn’t even trying to help at the math part. We hung them side by side with about an inch in between them. I am so in love with this gift.

Saturday morning we got up early and ran around doing errands. I count about eight errands that I recall. And then we went to my sister’s house for my niece’s third birthday. Kids everywhere and balloons and cake and bubbles and squealing and sticky little fingers. It was precious.

After the party the six adults, Mister and I, my sister and her husband and my parents went to dinner.

This is how dinner plans get made with our family. “Oh, Sue and Mister are trying to lose weight, we’ll go somewhere healthy for dinner. What do you want Sue? You want what? Sushi? Okay fish it is. Hey gang!? We’re going to Rock Fish for dinner.” And throughout this whole conversation that my mother was having with herself the only thing I said (outloud) was sushi.

And they do not have sushi at Rock Fish.

It was a very nice meal and our waiter was attentive and the lady chef has a massive crush on Mister.

He held his hand up to tell her thank you for the food and compliment her... and to ask about turmeric and saffron in the rice... and she grabbed his big paw and held his hand as they spoke. She was totally in love with him. LURVE, I say.

He? Was a little uncomfortable... but she was good lookin and made great food... FLIRT man, Flirt!

We went back to my sister’s house after dinner to have my birthday cake. It was delicious. From Central Market and had fresh strawberries layered between white cake and ... just yum. I get the same cake every year. Or any time I get a cake... It is the same one I had for our wedding reception. My parents tried to get me to take the cake home but alas, I cannot be trusted with that much sugar flavored lard in the house.*

*Two weeks ago I was having massive cramps in the middle of a two and a half week cycle and I asked for some cookies and cream ice cream. Bryer’s. Mister brought some home and I ate the whole half gallon in a week. I cannot be trusted, I tell you.

So Mister and I went home and collapsed into bed.

Yesterday... my actual birthday... rolled around and we got up. Mister brought me breakfast in bed and then we did some other stuff. We went to lunch at Passado’s, then to Retro Revolution to buy a few more little fun things for my piercing and then to PetSmart for some cat litter**.

**I lead a charmed life, no?

We were supposed to go to see Iron Man because I am a twelve year old boy who happens to have a massive crush on wounded drug addicts. Ah, Robert Downey Jr... How I love thee? But Mister came down with a gigantic headache so I decided that I would take the dog to the dog park, BUT FIRST!.... I would swing by my sister’s house to see my parents who are staying in town with the kids while my sister and her husband escape for a few days annnnnnd introduce them to the dog.

Imagine the “But FIRST!” part in that cartoon guy announcer’s voice.

My parents are coming in town and staying with Mister and I next weekend. My mother wants to take me shopping for my birthday. We have an eighty pound German Shepherd in the house and my mother is afraid of... well, everything really. Small dogs scare her, large dogs scare her... birds... fish... air. (This is where I confess to really wanting a large rat to round out our household... but ferrets are more boneless and all around squishier, but smell worse. I can just see my mother. Handing her a ferret, “Here, hold this tube sock with eyes... “... and her reply? “Ew EW, gedditofffameeeee! Geddditoffamee!”)

So I loaded Zeke up into my car, Mister begged off of going because of said migraine headache thingy above... apologizing profusely for having a headache on my birthday. Poor guy. In what life did someone make him feel bad about something so stupid. I can just see his exwife, or mother... or some high maintenance girlfriend, “Hmmmmpff, you have a headache!?!?!? On MY BIRTHDAY!!!!?!!!? The nerve.”

Meanwhile, back in the storyline where I wasn’t going off track...

I got to my sister’s house like twenty-seven seconds later and Zeke and I popped out and went to the door. My mother and my niece answer, both with huge grins on their face and my niece starts calling Zeke and smiling at my mother and I. They stood back and Zeke walked in and went straight to the living room where my father and nephew were playing Wii. My dad was sitting on the floor and Zeke went and put his nose next to my father, my dad pushed his muzzle away gently saying, “Let’s not get to friendly too fast big boy.” So Zeke backed up and sat down then walked around sniffing.

My mother asked me to put him outside, so I did, with my niece following. She went out to play in her sandbox and my mother stood at the door... I am sure... just waiting for the dog to lunge at my three year old niece and have a mid afternoon snack of cuteness. My mother finally relaxed then tensed again. She called my niece inside and asked if we wanted a slice of cake. So I left Zeke outside and helped my mother with the cake.

Zeke marked a tree or two then came up to the sliding glass door and with my niece on one side and he on the other he wagged his tail and she pressed her whole body into the glass door, “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke... Zeke!” So I opened the door and he came inside. We all sat down at the table and had some cake. I asked Zeke to sit and then to lay down, he did as he was asked and then my niece wanted to talk to him.

She ignored her cake in favor of the dog. “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke... Zeke!”

This is the part where I tell you that my mother’s best friend when she was little was a German Shepherd named Jack. My mother was just telling me that Jack used to get in between her and her nanny, Rosie when my niece slipped out of her chair and came around the table to pet Zeke.

The first time my niece met Zeke she stepped on his hip, I think because she wanted to lay on him. Not out of malice. But that time, at the park, with her mother and father right there, Zeke gave her a “Woof!” as in, “Ow. That hurts, step off.” So she and most people under three feet tall make him a wee bit nervous.

After he barked at her that first time, she hugged him and he licked her hand. All forgiven.

In the kitchen yesterday she accidentally stepped on one of his back feet, he, of course, said, “Woof Woof!” and my niece backed up a step but then went to pet him again. My mother on the other hand grabbed the child from the floor and held her head to her breast like the demon dog (with no lower canines... he is old y’all. OLD.) was going to attack her grandchild.

The look on my mother’s face was pure terror. I picked up his leash and said, “Thank you for the cake, we’re gonna head out.” My mother told me to sit down and finish my cake. I sat. And she sat, with my niece in her lap, “Just don’t go next to the dog [niece], let’s just have our cake.” My niece? Quietly, “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke... Zeke!” She reached out a foot to him and he in turn gave her a paw. It was awesome. But my mother was terrified.

I shoveled a piece of cake into my face and tried to get out of there so quickly.

My mother insisted that I take the cake home. Just the day before she and my father both patted Mister and I approvingly on our smaller frames. “Well... You guys just look Great!” If this would have been a few months prior? My mother wouldn’t have tried to send the cake home with me. It’s weird how that shit happens.

I got Zeke on his leash and because (he is so incredibly menacing and blood thirsty for three year old little girls) I have to lift his old ass into and out of my little Chevy Equinox my father carried the cake out to my car for me, he put it in the passenger seat while I lifted Zeke into the back.

I told my dad thanks again for dinner and the cake and I went home. I got Zeke out of the back at home and then went to get the cake and my purse and keys out of the passenger seat. I tipped the cake and it fell, frosting first in between the front seats and into the console.

Awesome.

This was turning out to be a peach of a day.

The cat came and sat on my lap and Zeke put his head on my knee when I sat on the couch. It is almost as if they knew I was about to lose my shit. Mister looked up and asked, “So, how was it?” I mumbled something about a “Fucking Disaster” and then my face dissolved into a mess of hot tears and snot.

Mister came over and sat beside me and I had my three favorite boys all basically in my lap. The cat, the dog and my loving husband all trying to comfort me. I was trying to eloquently describe why it is so important to me that my parents like my dog. But all I came up with was, “Fuck it. Zeke is a part of our little family and... “ [hitching sob and then more crying].

I am a master at the English language.

I know on some level I was worried that my mother’s fear would instill fear into my niece, but my niece has no fear. She is a little warrior who loves tea parties and to shake her bootie. Maybe I am just so in love with this dog that it hurts MY feelings that my mother is irrational about how she feels towards a member of my family.

I had years of that when I was married to X. I knew how they felt, but I wanted to make it work. This? This is not a husband who will screw around on me and steal money. This? Is a dog. A sweet, gentle, kind, loving dog. He is big. But he is old.

Yes, yes, I know... “It only takes one time.” Whatever. It only takes one time for a lot of things, only one time to get pregnant, to get fired for doing a report the wrong way, to get hit by a drunk driver, to get pulled out by the rip tide... but Zeke hasn’t bitten my niece and he keeps giving her chances... chances to step on him, to love him, to be near him.

I’m going by there tonight to take my mother her gift for Mother’s Day, it didn’t come in until this morning. If she says one word about how scary Zeke is... or that they have decided not to come to the house next weekend. I guess I will just have to live with it.