I’VE GOT AN ANSWER TO ALL MY PROBLEMS!!!!
Not ALL my problems, of course. I still have no idea how to magically morph into a two-legged creature so that I can appear for my Newyorker one-on-one, but other than that [and how I STILL haven’t sourced a catered who is willing to 1) bake dog-food 24/7 and 2) work for free], I’ve figured out how I can STILL be B-Dawg!!
And it’s a pretty low-down, uncouth way to do it. [It’ll be like telling someone they won the lottery and then saying, ‘Wait, you’re 679877653?? Sorry, I’m looking for 679877654. Looks like you didn’t actually win three million dollars… >Nervously Laughs<‘]
But what’s more important right now?? Making sure Kathryn’s emotional status is tip-top or saving my own butt from permanent damage??
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.
Oh no. NO NO NO NO NO.
First and foremost, on behalf of the staff at the New Yorker, I would like to congratulate you on the astonishing success of your advice column. You’d be surprised at the number of us who have sent you questions.
Therefore, we have decided that it would be, on the whole, a good idea to start up a space on Page 6 just for you. The whole thing is up to you.
Maybe you could swing by our office one of these days and let us know what you feel about this.
Your devoted fan,
I InstaMessaged Kathryn last night, stating that I was B-Dawg and that I’d picked up the lot with her name on it while trying to decide who to crown as, well, the next me. Every inch of my body warned me against clicking the “send” button. EVERY INCH.
But I did it, anyway. Because I’m a “good dog.” But you know what the funny part is?? Being “good” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, I don’t have to deal with a guilty conscience every morning. But I DO have to wait by the computer every single second of the day, waiting anxiously for a reply.
Which TOTALLY sucks.
I have WAY better things to do than crouch next to an Apple product 24/7. Like eating. Lots and lots of eating.
I could, in fact, really use a snack right about now.
But I daren’t risk it. I have to be there the SECOND my Yahoo notifications beep, signifying the entrance of new fresh mail into my inbox. Because I have to get it over with as quick as possible. I just HAVE to. I need to hand over the baton to my elder sibling and halt my professional career as an amazingly-popular advice columnist as FAST as my lump-of-a-body will let me.
>MacBook Pro Beeps<
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! I’VE GOT A EMAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’m a lot of things [and not all of them are good].
But I am NOT dishonest.
Therefore I just HAVE to muster up the courage to send an e to Kathryn. Telling her that she, out of the hordes of teens with nothing better to do all summer than dish out advice to other teens who have nothing better to do all summer than to ask for advice from four-legged creatures [granted, they don’t know I’m four legged, but whatever], has won the privilege of following my footsteps and turning into the next life-mantra-giver-outer after Judge Judy.
And, let me assure you, there are TONS of things I’d rather be e-ing her about [like my irregular bowel movement] than the aforementioned news that I have to convey thanks to the dumb pang of guilt that I feel in the pit of my -enormous- tummy whenever I lie.
What is WRONG WITH ME?????????
My brain and my conscience fought.
No, really fought. I was up all night, weighing the pros and cons of being honest and making Kathryn win.
1. My life could very well be finished if Mom and Dad figure out about this [which I’m pretty sure they are, considering how no one in this house is even allowed to use the loo without their permission]
2. I need someone of -how do I put this??- superior intellect to take over MY business. I mean, what if Kath manages to WRECK B-Dawg??
3. Think about all the hearts that will be shattered. And for what?? So that my can’t-think-beyond-the-next-Gucci-sale sister can start running B-Dawg??
1. I can co to sleep at night knowing that I did the right thing.
That’s about it. For THREE very valid, very DANGEROUS cons, I have one LOUSY, stinkin’ pro that I’m not even sure is qualified to be one in the first place. I mean, who even cares about CONSCIENCE these days??
That’s right. NO ONE.
So why should I?? [Care about it, I mean] Why should I always be the good one and play by the rules??
I’m telling you, being a dog in a world run by humans?? Sucks.
Imagine my surprise when I shove open the note on which the name of the person who will take over my very popular column is inscribed…
…Only to see KATHRYN’S name there. My SISTER, Kathryn. Who is now, officially, B-Dawg.
Only, she isn’t.
Because NO WAY IN HECK am I crowning her as the next B-Dawg. No WAY. It’s bad enough that I am a dog with a thing for blogging.
But being a dog with a thing for blogging AND a having family who knows all about it?? No thank you.
Because I can totally see what will happen if I let Kathryn win; The first thing she’ll do is tell Mom and Dad, and they’ll spend the whole night Googling B-Dawg and they’ll chance upon my blog and the next thing you know, I’m in a zoo filled with “special” animals like myself, writing for anyone who slips a fiver into my cage.
And that is SO what I want to do for the rest of my life.
I’m going to have to think fast and figure out what to do. I mean, when it comes to personal reasons, I have more than enough to realize that Kathryn is not becoming the next me [even the THOUGHT is revolting. How can my lipstick-obsessed sibling POSSIBLY be half as charismatic and sophisticated as MOI??].
But when I dig deeper, my conscience is telling me that, even though it may completely destroy my life, I should stick to the rules and tell her that she won, fair and square.
Over an eMail, of course. I couldn’t just TELL her face-to-face, for obvious reasons [one of them being that I can’t -ahem- speak].
Who knew that replacing myself would turn out to be such a heinous task????