I’m going to give you an exact recounting of a series of text messages from yesterday, between Alpha Man and myself, just to prove that women and men are truly from different planets.
He was working in his wood shop, which is on the cellar level of our three-story house. I was on the top floor deck, writing my latest book on my laptop in the questionable sun -- or more accurately, trying write my latest book while Izzy, a.k.a. Mountain Barbie, was driving me crazy. She was sitting at my feet, staring into my eyes, and whining. Occasionally barking. Desperate to make me take her for a W-A-L-K. I just wanted her to N-A-P, which Alpha Man had promised me she would do.
I texted Alpha Man: Your dog is not sleeping.
Nothing from Alpha Man.
I try to write, but the pup is still NOT going to sleep as promised. She’s gnawing on Sadie’s head. Ten minutes later I text Alpha Man again: Your dog is still not sleeping. She is too busy driving me INSANE to sleep.
No response, dammit. I KNOW he’s receiving his texts.
From me: Come get your NOT SLEEPING puppy or you will be eating her for dinner.
Sure enough, about 60 seconds later, I hear the cellar door open, then hear Alpha Man’s footsteps coming up the first flight of stairs, and then the second. I hear him call his @#$@# puppy. She plops down at my feet, smiling sweetly.
Alpha Man goes back down.
I attempt to get into the scene I’m writing. I have not one word typed, and can feel some panic bubbling in my gut. I don’t think my editor will think having a wayward puppy is a good enough excuse to not turn my book in on time. As if she agrees, Mountain Barbie pops up and barks.
From me to Alpha Man: COME GET YOUR insomniac PUPPY.
From me: Either get up here and get your CRAZY NOT SLEEPING puppy or sleep with HER tonight.
Once again the cellar door opened and I hear Alpha Man’s footsteps. See? I KNEW he was getting those texts! This time when he calls for Izzy, she goes padding off, ears flopping in the wind. Good. She is finally, officially, HIS problem, not mine. I look at my cell phone for the time and more panic sets in. It’s been two hours and I have written NOTHING. I sigh and look at my laptop screen, and try to get into the scene I’m writing.
Two minutes later, a text from Alpha Man: Pup is sleeping.