I would wager a guess that plenty of people in our neighborhood refer to me as “That crazy blonde lady with the puffy dog.”
They have good reason, I suppose. I talk to myself in the grocery store. I garden on the patio in my men’s style jammies. My order at the corner BBQ joint frequently consists of my three major food groups: mashed potatoes, french fries, and potato salad. (Mmmmm, Bring on the taters!)
But perhaps the pinnacle of crazy that folks around here could point to is something I get caught doing with embarrassing regularity and it happened again this morning.
I got caught singing to the dog during our walk AGAIN this morning. I do it all the time, so I don’t know why getting caught by an unsuspecting neighbor as I round a blind corner is such a surprise. I am actually fairly proud of my lyrical prowess. Today I was feeling a bit lazy, so the woman pulling her grocery cart down the street was only subjected to my generic Batman theme ripoff “(na-na na-na na-na na-na, na-na na-na na-na na-na, POT-TER!”) – but I have come up with some great ones, if I do say so myself. I am particularly fond of “B is for Binky” (my nickname for Potter) to the tune of “C is for Cookie,” and our windy day rendition of “Against the Wind” complete with 2 full verses about the hazards of doggies wizzing in the breeze.
I have only been actually laughed at once, by the guy coming out of the coffee shop who caught me midway through “Inspector Fluffball” (to the tune of Inspector Gadget) and stopped mid-sip of iced latte to laugh out loud at me. Most people who catch me just smile politely and pass by as I stop short and start blushing.
I guess I could have called this “reason number eleventy-kerjillon why it is time to have a baby” just as easily. You can hide a whole pile of crazy behind “I’m a parent.” Singing to a dog seems nutty, but crooning to a kiddo on your daily stroll is, at least, socially acceptable.
And then I could be “That crazy lady with the puffy dog and cutie baby.”