My Ugliness Uncensored

November 15, 2005

I’m about to lose readers. I might just even get my first piece of bona fide hate mail…or at least my first piece of “I would have expected more from you” mail. Why? Because I’m going to let you into my head and now you’ll really know what and how I think. And I’m afraid it won’t be pretty. Especially because I’m the pastor’s wife. Oh yeah. I also might toss around the “s” word (although it’s not what you think).

As a matter of background, you should know the facts…

Fact #1: My family and I are in search of a dog. Scratch that. I am in search of a dog and my family has agreed to go along for the ride.

Fact #2: I have an ugly competitive streak that, when challenged, often causes me to throw good, common sense and/or judgment directly out the window. And sometimes I just plain sin. Of this, I am not proud.

So…

The other day we were at the dog shelter when I laid eyes on the most adorable dog you ever saw. But here’s the problem: I was unable to get close to the dog because two chics had PLANTED themselves in front of his kennel with the clear intention to prohibit anyone else from seeing him up close. Obviously they wanted him. Ahhh, but now, so did I. The game was on.

I inched my way just a little bit closer to the dog. I wanted to get a better look at him, but mainly I wanted to let Chics #1 & #2 that they now had competition. Well, as I moved in closer, Chic #1 moved just enough to push me out. She did it on purpose, of course, and that thing in me I call “my competitive spirit” (just because it sounds good when really it would be more appropriately called “I WILL win no matter what the cost”) kicked into high gear.

But then, much to my satisfaction, I discovered that thing which can be so elusive, so hard to find, so difficult to determine—the weak spot. While she was so busy pushing me aside, she was muttering into her cell phone “Hurry! Get down here as fast as you can because there are other people looking at the dog!”

Ah ha! Apparently her hands are tied, I’m thinking. I take another look at her and it’s clear she’s probably in her late teens, not quite old enough to adopt an animal herself and so she’s gotta wait for a parent.

Now as an aside, I have another confession to make, another hidden issue that is silly, immature and a sign that I most certainly need to work more on my inner child. The truth is, my “competitive spirit” is never so intense as it is with teen girls. I can play softball all summer with lots of lovely, more mature women (read: 40+) and never really get riled up. But put me up against a teen girl and I become an absolute nutcase. I think the root of this issue goes all the way back to high school basketball. I played for three years and we never, not once, ever, beat our rival team. IN THREE YEARS. I admit, I’m still bitter about this fact and clearly have not worked through it. I probably need to repent or something. Anyway, back to the story…

So, to recap. I see a dog. I like the dog. Two TEEN girls also see the dog and want him. They push me out. I’m ticked off. But not too much to determine their weak spot—they have to wait until their mom can drive to the shelter in order to move forward with the adoption process.

So, at this point, I did as any reasonable person would do: I marched directly to the lady at the front desk and told her, very calmly, that there was a dog we’d like to see. “My application is on file,” I said and I was happy to see that she located it quickly. “Which dog would you like to see?” she asked. “The Weimaraner,” I say, at which point I sensed a foreboding presence just off my right shoulder. Chic #1 was breathing down my neck.

“OK,” the lady at the desk said, “the next available adoption counselor will help you as soon as possible.”

“Thanks,” I reply.

As I’m walking away from the desk, Chic #1 goes in for the kill. “I’d like to put the Weimaraner on hold,” she says. Just as I’m nearly overtaken by the urge to clock her, the woman at the desk says something like, “I’m sorry. I can’t put the dog on hold until your mom gets here.”

HA! Point for me.

And the lady continues, “Besides, once she gets here she’ll still need to fill out an application and these people want to see the dog too (indicating us) and they’re first in line.”

HA! HA! HA! I shoot! I score! The CROWD. GOES. WIIIIIILDDD!!!!

And then I make a fatal error. I turn to my husband (who is not really paying attention to the drama) and say something like, “They want the dog too. That girl just tried to put the dog on hold in front of me! I want that dog. And I want it just because they want it and I don’t want them to have it.”

Now, I’m sure I don’t need to point out why this is an error. It is actually a multifaceted error. First, now my husband is on to me. His response is, “Dear, that is no reason to get a dog.” It is also an error for the obvious reason, like, uh, it is SINFUL and I’m glad no one here knows I am the pastor’s wife.

Anyway, so Chic #1 and Chic #2 are now both sweating, as WE now have first dibs on the dog. And I am LOVING this.

The adoption counselor approaches us. Chic #1 and Chic #2 are nearby, eavesdropping. The adoption counselor tells us the dog is not recommended for a family with small children because Weimaraners are very rambunctious and have been known to knock kids down. Chic #1 & Chic #2 breathe a sigh of relief. However, I am not dismayed by this little tidbit of information. (In fact, I already know this is true because we had friends with a Weimaraner and our daughter was knocked down precisely in this way.) Sorry girls, WE ARE STILL GOING TO LOOK AT THIS DOG! AND I’M FEELING AN ADOPTION COMING ON!

We meet the dog and whereas before I want the dog just so they can’t have him, now I want the dog because I have fallen hopelessly in love with him the moment he laid his sweet head in my palm. (My husband is rolling his eyes right about now.)

Speaking of my husband, he’s not excited about the dog. Visions of our children being catapulted into space on a regular basis by this rogue beast, along with the dog’s need for “two hours of hard exercise per day” are not winning him over…especially since he’ll be the one responsible for the “two hours of hard exercise per day” in about 4 months time when I’m laid up with a newborn attached to me 24/7.

In the meantime, the mother of Chic #1 & Chic #2 arrives. As we’re sitting at the adoption counselor’s desk, waiting to put the dog on hold (so we can discuss it further and do more internet research…and also a pretty brilliant ploy on my part, I would say, to further delay the agony of Chic #1 & Chic #2), the mother approaches us. Crying.

“I don’t mean to butt into your business”

In my head: Number 1. Well then why did you? Number 2. Oh brother.

“but my father is sick and has wanted a Weimaraner for a long time”

by the way you just mutilated the pronunciation of the word “Weimaraner,” clearly you don’t know anything about the breed, like, how in the world is your sick father going to provide “two hours of hard exercise per day”?

“and I’ve been rushing down here constantly trying to find him the right dog. I’ll pay you $25 if you’ll let me have the dog.”

What? $25? Are you kidding me? $250 and we’ll talk, lady

“I’ll just leave you alone now so you can talk about it.” (By the way, the whole time she’s standing there, Chic #1 is standing next to her, also crying.) They both walk away.

My husband looks at me, without a word, and it is truly one of those rare moments when I really have no idea what he is thinking. Me? I’m slightly torn and when I say slightly I mean S L I G H T L Y. Mostly I’m rolling my internal eyes saying, “Oh, cry me a river.”

Intermission: I know this is ugly but I’m just telling you like it happened.

Anyway, the adoption counselor comes back from finding someone who knows a little more about Weimaraners. So, whereas Brian was not so excited about the dog before, I can see him loathing the creature more and more with each “We really don’t recommend adopting this dog when you have small children in the house” (looking at the kids) and “Just be aware of what owning this dog will entail” and “Do you have a fenced yard? Oh, you don’t? Oh, we really recommend a fenced yard so this dog can get plenty of exercise” etc. etc. Then, to top it all off, “I’m sorry, but placing the dog on hold requires a $35 holding fee and if you don’t end up adopting the dog, the $35 is not refundable.”

Need I say that Brian’s faced screamed “I AM TOTALLY NOT INTO THIS IDEA IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM!”?

So, at this moment, I am faced with a choice. Do I (a) take control of this situation by begging, pleading, manipulating or whatever else I can think of to get this darn dog or (b), and here’s the “s” word, submit?

The answer, my friends, is b…even though I really think this dog is heaven sent and even though I know he has certainly waited all 4 months of his life for me and only me to rescue him and even though it BURNS ME UP TO HAVE TO GIVE THAT DOG UP TO CHIC #1, CHIC #2 AND CRYLADY BECAUSE I HATE HATE HATE TO LOSE!!! And I can just TASTE the glory of the win.

But submit I did. And for good reason. Brian’s a wise man, put in place as the leader of our family by God himself and who am I to mess with that. Besides, quite frankly, I wouldn’t want the responsibility. But before all you pro-submission types go crazy, hailing me as a hero and stuff, you should know I pouted about it a fair amount later. I still haven’t mastered the whole concept—you know, like, I can’t submit and then whine and complain about the fact that I submitted in the first place. I think complaining about it later kind of erases it, but I’m not sure.

Anyway, for the record, I would just like to say that after we turned the dog down, we didn’t accept any money. Crylady tried to give Brian $25. He refused of course, and instead told her he’d be praying for her father. No joke. And he was dead serious too. Why can’t I be good like him, that’s what I want to know.

And by the way, Crylady (and family) never took the dog. How do I know? Because I couldn’t resist going to the shelter two days later and there sat the dog. I tell ya. I didn’t know whether to be happy or mad. They could have at least had the decency to take the dog so I didn’t have to look at his sweet, little face again. And after I had already submitted, no less.

Category: Life

Comments

6 Responses to “My Ugliness Uncensored”

  1. Andrea
    November 16th, 2005 @ 2:54 am

    I absolutely LOVED that post! The more I read the more I want to meet you. I’m seriously praying that our families could one day.

    You’re like a modern day psalmist. David was real with God and himself and in the end God “gives it to him”–the lesson. Reading that post I could totally relate to all of it. We should start a club: Internet Pastor’s Wives Who Say What People Think They Shouldn’t. We could call it CRAP for short. :)
    When you wrote the part about ‘crylady’ I thought, “what, did she watch “Because of Winn Dixie” before she drove to the pound just so she could shed a few tears to make you feel bad?” I bawled my eyes out watching that movie, by the way. If they knew you were a PW they would have definitely been even more appauled.

    It is so good to have a rational, wise husband. I find myself growling often at my stud’s silently, wise decisions. The kind where they gracefully exude their leadership by not saying anything forthright, but “allow” you to make the right decision. Sorry so long, it’s night.

  2. cmhl
    November 16th, 2005 @ 10:32 am

    GREAT post!!

    so, did you GET the dog when you went back and he was still there???

    and, i love that breed— their fur is the most amazing color..

  3. Mel
    November 19th, 2005 @ 3:43 am

    What a refreshing post! (I’m a pastor’s wife, too, and love to hear other pastor’s wives being real.)

  4. Cassie
    November 25th, 2005 @ 3:15 pm

    I’ve scared so many people away from playing games with me- My competiveness gets away from me– I’m so right, I’m wrong- and my Husband is so good- almost irritatingly good. No advice for you- except that I hear what you’re saying loud and clear.

    P.S. We also lost a dog (at a shelter) to a mother with a sick daughter and blah, blah, blah. We had the dog and my husband took the high road and gave her the option to adopt the dog instead.. I konw how you feel.

  5. Jessica
    December 1st, 2005 @ 7:26 pm

    Your husband read my husband’s blog and I found your blog on your husbands.
    Whoa, that was a long run-on sentence.

    You are so refreshingly open. Thank you. I have this misconstrued idea in my finite brain that Pastor’s Wives are perfect - or at least think they are. Sad, isn’t it? I know that nobody is perfect. My mind truly knows this. But my heart fails to comprehend.

    I, too, have a rough time with the “s” word.

    I will, definitely, be back.
    Thank you!

    -Jes

  6. Jill
    March 28th, 2007 @ 2:12 pm

    YES! You have just described my husband! Yesterday, when this one “nosy” church member called, I told him after the phone call how I felt about this particular member and her “nosy” questions and he just thought I needed to not complain so much about the church members who annoy me! But, when he is “annoyed” with a church member, who does he come running to, huh? Yep! ME!!
    As for getting a dog, we are promising our daughter to look for one. I will be on the lookout for any “Crybaby/chic 1 and chic 2’s” out there. We live in a very small, rural, depressed area. The county seat is less than 10,000 population and our two churches my husband serves are in one town of less than 600 and the other, is in a “forest!” Practically!!!! And, we came from a large college-town we grew up in which is located about 2 hours south of Chicago. I should say we have been “culturally challendged” down here.
    Another time, I can tell you about the unfriendly neighbors(our parsonage is in a gated community).
    Jill

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