I should mention that our journey from co-workers at “the dirty store” to Mr. and Mrs. Thor wasn’t all smooth sailing.
When I first moved back to New York, I was staying with an old friend – a friend I’d known since high school. A friend who tended to act impulsively at times.
I think that this friend (can we call him Jimmy? Let’s call him Jimmy.) got sick of hearing about my crush on Mr. Thor, and one day Jimmy stopped in the Dirty Store and invited Mr. Thor over to the house for dinner, and Mr. Thor accepted. I was horrified, terrified, and delighted. I lived with a gay man, a lesbian, and three Chihuahuas. Nothing to be nervous about at all, right? I knew very little about Mr. Thor at the time, and I certainly didn’t know enough about him to know where he stood on the important issues, such as: Chihuahuas – are they born that way or do they choose to be all weird and trembly?
The day of the dinner finally came. Dinner went smoothly. All of the people around the dinner table seemed to really be enjoying themselves. The one and only “person” who seemed to feel awkward was Jimmy’s Chihuahua puppy, NoNa. She shook whenever she looked at Mr. Thor, and she growled and hunched down low whenever he spoke. Jimmy held NoNa in his lap as we all sat around the cleared-off table and talked and laughed.
And then Jimmy did something that I still don’t understand. In an effort to help NoNa “get over” her fear of Mr. Thor, he kind of tossed her across the table in Mr. Thor’s direction. Unfortunately, in mid-air, she realized where she was headed, and rather than land on Mr. Thor, she kind of stopped her own flight and landed on the table. But then, the table was kind of slippery, and she, as I put it, “Bambied out.” Her legs went out and she went down. And this dog was officially in a full-on panic.
Mr. Thor took pity on the pathetic creature before him and he picked up NoNa with the goal of setting her on the floor. She did not, I repeat, she did NOT approve. She contorted, she snarled, she snapped, and Mr. Thor only got her to about a foot from the floor before she just shot out of his arms and sprinted out of sight.
And then we all smelled it. It smelled like poop. Fresh poop. Everyone started looking on the floor for the offending pile, but not me. I already knew what had happened. I looked at the object of my as-yet-unrequited love and saw, almost as in slow motion, that his khakis were covered in what looked like little droplets. Like someone had flicked water on him, almost.
I had to tell him. “That smell is coming from…you. She expressed her anal glands on you.” I pointed at the drops on his pants, and I braced myself. I just knew he was going to cuss out the “stupid bleeping dog” and go off on a tirade, and then everything would be over.
Mr. Thor just kind of shrugged. “Well, that’s understandable. She felt threatened. Anyway, they’re just pants.”
That is the precise moment I knew I would marry Mr. Thor.