Saturday, November 21, 2020

Standard of Beauty for Our Dog

My husband and I clearly have a different viewpoint on the standard of beauty for our fur baby, aka Waffles. Specifically, we disagree on how we should shape her beard and how long it should be. This is an argument we had just last week. 

Me        : I think we should cut Waffles’s beard shorter. She keeps munching on her own beard. Gross!
Hubs    : No. Do not even try. (He gave me a cold stare) 
Me        : Why not? She will look prettier with a shorter beard! She looks like an old man now!
Hubs    : Well, she is a Schnauzer. She will look prettier with a long beard! The beard stays. 
Me        : Why you want her to look ugly?? She is my daughter, and I want her to look pretty!
Hubs    : She is my daughter too! Why can't you accept her the way she is?? 
Me        : Errr….(I went quiet. I was getting confused with how this conversation turned)

I swear to God, my husband will let Waffles’ beard grow so long that she can sweep the floor with it. Also, I am afraid that my husband will make her look like a AKC show dog:

And for some reason, it reminds me of my husband 😄

Last Time I Cried From Happiness

During a recent Toastmaster meeting, I received a "table topic" question about the last time I cried because from happiness. It was a difficult question for me to answer because although I do cry a lot, it is usually because of sad movies or puppy videos on YouTube. I rarely cry because of happiness. So when I got this question at the meeting, I gave the most generic answer, "I cried on my wedding day". However, the full story is more than that. I remember on my wedding day my mother kept telling me, “Don't will ruin your makeup if you cry!” And of course I agreed with her! I did not want to cry and smear my mascara all over my face! On top of that, I was so exhausted on my wedding day that I just wanted the day to be over. There was no room for tears on my agenda. 

However, my mom changed her mind and decided to cry at the ceremony anyway. And what happened next? I cried too! How could I not? Then my dad, playing the hero, tried to save the day by bringing me a handkerchief, but instead of dabbing my eyes gently, his hand moved too fast and sort of punched me in the eye. I could feel my false eye lashes move and it felt weird. It was like about to fall off! 

In the end, my makeup was ruined, but not because I cried. It was because my father punched me in the face with a handkerchief.

That is basically my speech for last week's Toastmaster meeting. I won the award for best table topic, and that it all that matters.