I’m stuck in a convention in Tuscaloosa for the weekend. No, I don’t know who I pissed off.
Normally, I hate breakfast meetings. I especially hate breakfast meetings with motivational speakers who vow to “pump you up.” But today we listened to an interesting fellow named Bruce Hamilton who told us something that I had to write down.
“The world would be a different place if we greeted each other the way we great our dogs.”
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You make me nervous.
(I am just being Nellie-like in the spirit of the post.)
I’ll be sure to let you all jump into my arms and lick my face while I say “yes, baby, Dama’s home!”
next time we see each other.
And life will veer straight from an exercise in politeness headlong into a sleazy porn film.
Well, at least that’d be better than if we greeted each other the way our dogs greet each other….
I just want to be the kind of man my dogs think I am.
I will jump into your arms but I will not sniff your but.
You’ve talked about that thang over here and not all if it has been pleasant.
When I read this I wanted to eat my cereal directly from the bowl, sans spoon, weird.
That’s fine as long as you don’t mark your territory before you leave me.
So does the greeting include my ritual statement of, “Hey, stop eating the poo out of the cat box, stupid!” or perhaps, “Sit!” followed by a whack on the nose if not obeyed instantly?