The Defiant One

RUNNING AT TOP SPEED

RUNNING AT TOP SPEED

We took Maritza and Zoey to the dog park on Sunday.  We have an issue with Zoey drinking out of the kiddie pools that are scattered in different areas of the dog park for the retrievers.  They like to sit in them.  The water is gross.  I gag just looking at it.  It’s a mixture of mud, grass, drool and dog butt.  To Zoey, it’s the nectar of the gods.  Whatever.  I’m sure she thinks asparagus are gross.  But asparagus won’t give you hook worms.  Drinking dog butt water will.  So, we have an issue with Zoey.

We thought we had a little plan to keep her away from the pools.  However, once we got to the park, Steven stopped at the Dog Park Guard Shack Gestapo to have the girls’ yearly shots, licenses and paperwork authenticated at Checkpoint Charlie.  I took them though the gate, within the gate, within the gate.  Our town is really into doggy security.

Just as a side bar, your 6-year-old kid could sneak into the skate park right beside Dogville, with no padding, no helmet and oozing chicken pox sores.   No one would say a word.  But, I digress.

What happened next is still a little fuzzy.  I just know that the dogs didn’t stick to the plan.  They scattered as we got in the gate, which is unusual.  Zoey is normally extremely timid.  She does like the big boys though, just like me.  And there was as hot looking lab sporting a flashy collar and letting her sniff him everywhere.  Need I say more?

When Steven came into the fenced area, I could see his shorts were in a bunch. He likes plans.  He likes to stick to plans.  He cracks me up, because my plan is to either follow the plan or not.  I can go either way, but that’s my plan, so I always stick to my plan.  Him, not so much.

The next few minutes were a lot of yada yada yada-with the pool, another dog owner, Zoey trying to sneak a drink.  It’s all unimportant.  This is the important part.  As we were getting all the dogs into their rightful positions, this is what Steven said to the other dog lady, “I don’t know why my wife is so defiant.”  Oh no, you didn’t!  You did NOT just call me ‘defiant.’  I could feel my blood pressure going up.  Foolishly, he repeated it to me.  “Why do you have to be defiant?” Seriously?  We’re doing this?

I won’t pretend I wasn’t mad at first.  But it really only lasted a few minutes because each time I said the word ‘defiant’ in my head, instead of getting angrier, I found myself wanting to laugh.  As a matter of fact, I’ve been referring to myself in the third person as “The Defiant One” since Sunday.  Face it, I am defiant.

The fact that Steven would reference my defiance in a way that was reminiscent of the days of bustles, corsets and parasols was ludicrous.  I yanked his southern ass right into the 21 century when I reeled him into my boat, let him flop around with that giant hook in his mouth while I was deciding whether I wanted to marry him or throw him back in.  And his influence on Alexis has a lot to do with what makes her so determined (or defiant?) and self-sufficient today.  So what was up?

I married me a good ole southern boy with a big heart and good soul.  Sometimes his good ole southern boy mouth burps up his foot.  So what!  That’s what we defiant women like.  A challenge!  Lucky for both of us, huh?  Now that I think about it, wouldn’t the ‘defiant’ one be the good ole southern boy who married a damn Yankee?  That’s what I thought.  Not my fault…again.

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