Woof

I took French in high school and again in college. This decision showed great foresight and career-mindedness for a person living in New Mexico, where nearly 30% of the population speaks Spanish at home. That’s just how prepared I am.

Speaking of foresight, I forgot about the language requirement in my high school until my junior year, which made me the only upperclassman in a French I course with a bunch of 14-year-olds. If you’re thinking that being older made me cool in any way, please take a look at the rest of my blog.

Still, I was holding on to my dignity pretty well until Rico came through the door one morning and announced, “I hear you used to bark at people.”

The trouble with truth is that it’s difficult to refute convincingly, particularly if the witnesses survive.

The witness in this instance was a girl from my middle school who I didn’t previously realize had something against me. She had clearly been squealing, but I couldn’t picture how the topic had come up.

I should point out that it was perfectly reasonable to bark at the people in question because they already thought I was possessed. They never mentioned how they got the idea, but it might have been the amount of time I spent talking to a stump in the cafeteria courtyard. Or the day I wore plastic grocery bags in my hair. Or maybe my homemade respirator mask with built-in windshield from the year they re-roofed the school.

It wasn’t the invisible birds I used to chase; that definitely came after they had started throwing M&Ms at me.

I kind of liked attention.

(Aside: Believe it or not, I maintained an entire friendship through all three years of middle school.)

Here’s the thing, though: I definitely still bark on occasion. I also lick dessert plates, pretend that I’m invisible, and slide down carpeted stairs on my butt. Dorky stuff is fun. Just don’t let 14-year-olds catch you.

(P.S. You want to go for a full-bodied woof, like a German Shepherd or Rottweiler. Any animal that bounces when it barks doesn’t count.)