How come good stuff never happens to me?? And on the rare occasion that it DOES, there’s absolutely nothing I can do to use it??
Take, for example, the whole B-Dawg issue. I spend three weeks hanging on to the plan, trying my best to deliver what the advice-seekers want. They want to feel better about themselves?? I tell them to cut themselves some slack and that they deserve giant mugs of marshmallowy hot chocolate. They suffer from bully problems?? Itell them what to do if so-and-so situation takes place. They want to try out for something but don’t have the pluck?? I offer a very Mom-like speech about how giving stuff a go is never a bad thing and how participation is what actually matters.
But when the situation gets out of hand and I am bombarded by TONS of mail on a daily basis, I decide to hand over the baton to one lucky fan. Of course, out of the MILLIONS who vied for that opportunity, my damn paw went ahead and grips the ONE chit that I didn’t want to pick. Kathryn’s. Who lives in MY HOUSE. Who spends all her pocket money on chick flicks and mascara. Who is probably going to ruin all the effort I’ve put into my alter ego.
I do it anyway, though. I give her the job because that’s what my stupid conscience told me to do.
Moments after I send her that mail, I get a message from THE NEWYORKER [no less], telling me that they’d like ME to write for their paper. If you think about it, there’s no way I could’ve done it, because Mr Preston requested a face-to-face interview, which I can’t possible do [who’s heard of a DOG writing for a NEWSPAPER??].
But at least I had the OPTION. I’m sure I would’ve found a way to do it without giving away the fact that I have a tail.
Now I can’t. I can’t do it if I WANT to, can’t do it if I NEED to, can’t do it if my whole LIFE depends on snapping up that offer. Because my SISTER is now B-Dawg. [I guess I should forward Mr Preston’s eMail to her. Technically, he wanted to send it to her, anyway]
I’m telling you, being the good-guy?? Sucks.