The Natalie Show

It obviously failed miserably. But I said it. I admit it. I’m evil, and I’ve already admitted it to him. I’m scared sh*tless about living with an animal…and being responsible for an actual breathing creature.

At the shock of innumerable people in my life, I’m recently engaged, and the idea of having a pet is more terrifying to me than the idea of only having sex with one person for my remaining years on this earth. I’ve psychoanalyzed myself into a deep dark place and wound up curled up in a ball and rocking back and forth.

By the time I was 12, I killed no less than 5 fish. I think a hamster wound up in a heating vent. Not on purpose. I over-feed things and hug them too tight. Kind of like I do with my fiancé.

On top of that, I don’t have that innate ‘thing’ in me that absolutely loves animals. I’ve had cats and dogs that I loved, but they never slept in my bed. The closest they ever got to me was when I would dress them up in my clothes and force them to do weird dances by physically holding them up and moving their legs awkwardly one at a time.
I’ve gotten more attached to inanimate objects. I’m struggling with this in a big way because I’m wondering if it makes me some type of sociopath. But I’m going to reach deep down inside and find a part of me that I maybe never knew existed.

Poor Peanut. I love him. But it is beyond this adorable puggle. I’ve done crazy, scary, dangerous and borderline reckless shit in the past 28 years, but this is big. I don’t wake up before 8:45 during the week. And I really don’t like going outside in the rain if I don’t have to. I’m pretty much a big fing baby. WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I told the ‘fiance’ that there better be a gift card for the dog whisperer waiting for us when we get back from our honeymoon. Wish me luck.