It’s always a challenge to date a woman with children. You’re not able, if you want, to monopolize their time. (And if you ARE able to, you should dump them. That says something about them as a parent, doesn’t it?) Things always come up that complicate your plans. Why would I pick this topic to write about? Because I’ve been entertaining the idea of asking Strutter to move in with me in a couple of months, and I’ve been thinking of how that will affect my life and what changes I’ll need to make around the house. Mainly because her three kids would be moving in with her.
I’m talking about her pets, of course, but I wouldn’t want to insult them by calling them something like that. They are her children, and she loves them dearly. (I love them, too. Don’t go thinking I’m not a softie.) But they will certainly change my lifestyle when (if) we all live under the same roof. I’ll have to start hiding my socks in the laundry basket instead of leaving them strewn about the floor, lest the giant luck dragon, Taj, steal and devour them. I’ll have to nominate one room in my house to contain a box of cat shit so that MacDoogle, affectionately known as “Shitfeet,” will have a place to stink up. I’ll have to keep both my feet under the covers when I sleep to avoid the stealth-licks of Chewbacca, who is the sweetest dog ever and can’t stop kissing me. (I must taste extra-good.)
It’s not that I’m afraid of inviting them into my house at all. It’s just a matter of realizing that my life will change when they come. Luckily, I’d been entertaining the thought of getting a dog before I met Strutter, so I’d already started changing my mindset on how willing I am to have random things in my house chewed to pieces. So I’ll smile when the kids come barreling through the front door of my house, and give them big hugs as if they were my own. Hell, I’d adopt her kids even if she wasn’t coming with them.
(But she’d better come with them…)