Dressing the Dog

I am 47. I will be 48 very soon. I have gray hair that I don't color. I have wrinkles that I don't do anything about. I have an expanding middle that I also don't do anything about. My husband is 50, an old man. Handsome, but 50, nonetheless. My son is married, my daughter will be 20 next month. I'm having hot flashes, forgetting stuff, too young to quit but too tired to do too much. I'm not sure who I am and what I'm supposed to be doing. But one thing I am determined I won't do - dress the dog!

I have observed that there are some things that women my age do to help them cope with this "phase" of life. Here are a few:

1. Drink - Happy hour, Free Margarita Day, any occasion to get a buzz so they don't have to think about it.
2. Compete with their daughters - they are struggling with their fading youth, so they cover the gray, slather on the anti-wrinkle cream, hit the tanning bed and buy the same clothes as their daughters. They look scary.
3. Have an affair - to prove to themselves that they are still attractive.
4. Take their kid's leaving and husband's fading interest as a personal insult and get depressed and eat.
5. Buy stuff - cars, new furniture, trips.
6. Dress the dog - they have to do something with that "caretaking" drive that their kids don't need anymore.

It's that last one that I want to address. I have been through it and I completely understand how a woman feels when after 18 years of intense caretaking, it ends suddenly. We've spent 18 years honing our craft, discovering, streamlining, perfecting the art of taking care of people. Then in one day, there's a void. We have all this desire and knowledge, where do we put it? I, thankfully, have 25 students at school that I can lavish it on. But even if I didn't, I wouldn't put it on the dog!

This is Meg.

There is a dog that lives at our house. Her name is Meg. I think she's Katie's dog. Katie thinks she's my dog. Steave knows she's not his dog. Meg doesn't understand why she has to live in a house with us, she'd rather be out running the surface of the earth, getting into people's garbage. I know she doesn't want to live with us. But I've demanded that she should, for her own good. She rebels. I get angry. I want her to get a job or at least mop the kitchen floor in order to be a productive member of our family society. Even if she could, she wouldn't. So, even when I might be desperate to take care of someone, Meg is never in the running.

If I'm going to do that - get a child replacement, then I want be creative. I saw a program, The Natural History of the Chicken and there's a woman who owns a chicken named Cotton and she takes care of it like a child. Cotton has a car seat, eats McDonald's hamburgers, goes swimming in the pool and gets his feathers blow dried. That's at least eccentric and interesting. A little, disturbing but that makes it exciting.

I took care of Joel's hermit crab, Smitty, one summer. I killed him. I did, however, think about getting him a new shell with a jolly roger painted on it. That's almost "dressing the dog." Maybe if I had gotten it, he wouldn't have died.

We went to my friends house yesterday for the 4th. He grilled out and we laughed. He was looking at a catalog of RV's. I told him that in addition to his "old man RV" he should get a chihuahua, name him Boss and put a little sheriff's uniform on him. (My friend is a Lieutenant Sheriff) Boss could ride on the dashboard of his RV. In my mind, Boss really liked the outfit. I laughed really hard for a long time about this.

I don't know, maybe if I had a dog that would appreciate a wardrobe I would do it. But does "dressing the dog" send a message to the world? What message? "My kids are gone, I miss buying stuff for them, so this dog is the next best thing?" I feel like if I buy Meg a shirt, I've crossed some line. Like maybe I'm officially old.

When is Free Margarita Day?