As a small child, when I discovered I was born on a Wednesday, I got all depressed. And it really isn’t truthful, at least not about me. “Wednesday’s Child is full of piss and vinegar” might be more accurate in my case. (“Full of shit” is really probably more like it.) I doubt that either of those would make for a good nursery rhyme, though. (I’m partial to The Stinky Cheese Man, so it is no wonder I try to rewrite childhood tales with a more cynical twist.) I wanted to be that “Full of Grace” kid, since I tend to trip over my own feet and have ever since I can remember. Plus, I can’t dance for shit.
Then there is the whole birth order crap I read about when I was a young adult. I never got it, because since I’m a middle child (AND the only girl), I supposedly felt left out and misunderstood while growing up. Supposedly. Yeah, I was a bit insecure when I was younger, but I grew out of that nonsense. And I never really felt left out. I went out of my way to make certain I wasn’t. As the non-BF says, “Somehow, you always seem to end up the center of attention.” And as my mom once told me when I was bitching about something and mentioned having low self-esteem, “I don’t think you suffer from low self-esteem. I think you suffer from too much self-esteem.” (I am surrounded by so much positive support, I could just shit.)
Truth be told, I’m one of those annoying hearts-and-flowers people. I’m pretty much always optimistic. Okay, so maybe about 50% of the time I am optimistic, and 50% of the time, I just don’t care (half full, half empty? I’m the one who says, “Who gives a flying fuck? Top that bitch off!“). Happy is pretty much how I am most of the time, even if I do like to bitch about things a little too much. (Bitching makes me happy – that’s the secret, my friends. That, and dogs. Well, and alcohol. And shopping.)
Speaking of happiness, can a dog get depressed? Because Mr. Tail is pouting on my bed right now since the non-BF is out of town for business for the next two days. That dog went from happy to sad in 60 seconds flat. (And he got a lot more goodbye kisses than I did when I did the Airport Run. I expect presents when the non-BF returns to make up for this very obvious slight on his part.) I typically get weekend visits while the non-BF retains weekly custody. The routine was altered; I just threw that little dog’s world for a loop!
(I know the answer already, of course they can!, but I Googled it anyway.)
I thought it might be fun to look at the Images tab.
And then there was this, which made me snort my drink through my nose by accident.
Best “can dogs get depressed?” image, though…
I would be depressed, too, Leo, if I had hair like that. I’m just saying. Thank God Kate got the Leo on the right and not the Leo on the left.
What is UP with that fucking CURL on his forehead?