We were just coming in from Rosie’s dinnertime walk and Antonia, an older woman who lives upstairs a few floors, greeted us on the way in the door. Rosie loves this woman and gyrates and practically does backflips whenever she sees her. Without saying as much as hello to me, Antonia goes, “SOMEONE’S been getting lots of treats these days.”
“Who, me?” I tried to deflect what was clearly an insulting remark towards my little girl, who didn’t need to hear something negative about her body from this dunderhead — Rosie gets enough of that from her peers at the dog park, pet food advertising, and everywhere else in society.
“No, I meant Rosie. She’s really packed on the pounds! Look at that beer belly!”
Okay, um, beer belly? Dumb, #1. And #2, I couldn’t help but wonder: would Antonia have made the remark if Rosie had been a male dog? I mean, Fat is a Feminist Issue, after all.
But seriously: Who the heck is Antonia to make such a remark about someone else’s dog? Doesn’t she realize it’s kind of a reflection on the dog’s owner — like, maybe indicating that I am sort of a less-than or negligent mother? (I am — I mean, I do let Rosie play with nails, give her unlimited chocolate, and put moonshine in her water … but honestly, people can be so
Or to go one step further: would Antonia ever think that maybe calling Rosie a chow hound would make me feel that I have some extra pounds on me? (I don’t; I’m a size four.) (In my dreams.) (But who are you calling sensitive?)
God, I have totally lost my mind. So glad I have therapy tomorrow. After that, Rosie and I are going to Modell’s to buy her an elliptical and she’s going to be the best little dog in the world if I have anything to do with it.