The limit

Every once in a while, I have an experience that makes me realize I’ve hit my limit with something.

On the whole, I genuinely don’t care what strangers think.

When I was younger, I’d never leave the house without reasonably clean hair, makeup, and a cute outfit—unless I was exercising, in which case I felt invisible, and was always shocked when someone would say they saw me out for a run.

But for non-exercise, I tried to look attractive.

Now, unless it’s a specific occasion, I almost never wear makeup, and I tend to dress for comfort. I almost always wear a large orange sun hat. I also have a periwinkle one, for when I’m washing the orange one. I don’t ever think about which color might go best with what I’m wearing.

I’ve discovered that both Crocs and Birkenstocks are more comfortable with socks. It’s hot, so now, in summer, I often wear them with ankle socks.

India told me that she and her friends prefer Birks with socks, so in this regard, perhaps I’m unintentinionally joining the youth.

Some of my comfort in not caring is the awareness of my invisibility as a middle-aged woman. And I don’t look in the mirror a lot.

And some of it is that, as a middle-aged woman, I don’t walk around wondering if an attractive man will think I’m cute. It’s just not where my brain is.

Everyone once in a while, I look at myself in the big gym mirror, and I know that the younger me wouldn’t have worn whatever I’m wearing out on the street.

Unlike when I was younger, and fretted about having a pimple or oh my god wearing the wrong shoes, I know that people are walking around worrying about their own shit.

But back to hitting a limit.

Wanda has had this butt issue for some time now. She’s taken antibiotics. We’ve given her prescription food. Probiotics. She continues to strain when she poops, or even if she doesn’t have to poop, she thinks she does, and she has this thing sticking out of her butt.

The last time we went to the vet, they said it’s time to sedate her and see what’s going on. Maybe she has a polyp. Maybe she has a prolapsed rectum.

Clearly something is wrong, and her butt is very sore, and for them to examine it, she has to be sedated. So we’ve scheduled the procedure.

Before she had the rectal exam, she was fine going to the vet.

But ever since, she’s all, no thank you I do not want to be here can we please go home. Even though they’re so nice and give her treats and pet her. She’ll take their treats and pets, but she keeps her tail tucked tightly under her body.

When we were there, the vet asked me if Wanda ever has her tail up anymore. And I said yes, on the whole, she’s in good spirits. When she’s walking down the street, she’s very happy and tail waggy.

He asked if I could get photos of her anus. He said he knew that sounded weird, but it would be good to see if the red thing was always sticking out.

I tried lifting her tail, but nothing doing.

So I said sure, no problem. I can get some when we’re out for a walk. I don’t care what people think.

I truly said that. And I meant it.

I thought I could get some walking home from the vet, but getting a clear shot was a little tricker than anticipated. And Wanda was still a bit twichy.

Yesterday evening, we were walking home on a commercial street we always walk down. In front of one of the stores is Wanda’s favorite water bowl in all the land.

In the midst of a brutal summer in DC, it was lovely evening weather. There were tons of people enjoying the outdoors.

Wanda was so happy. She was wagging her tail. Suddenly I remembered the photos I’d been asked to take.

We were in front of one of the sidewalk plots maintained by the restaurants. There are trees and plants, and it’s popular with dogs. She was delighted, and paying attention to the smells, and not to me.

Perfect opportunity.

Wanda’s not tall, so I had to kind of crouch walk behind her, camera aimed at her anus. Because she really only had her tail high up while she was moving. Also, if I stopped, she got suspicious that I was behind her and so close, so she kept turning to face me. I kept getting photos of the side of her, or her tail coming down.

What I thought would be a quick snap turned into a bit of a process.

And then I realized we were doing this weird little dance down the sidewalk in front of restaurants and bars with tons of people on the patios.

It struck me that in some instances, I do in fact care what complete strangers think.

It’s one thing to have it be about what you’re wearing, and completely another to look like you’re trying to get a close-up of your dog’s anus.

Which, of course, I was.

So put me on a highway/ And show me a sign/ And take it to the limit one more time…

(Related and bewildering: Nick hates the Eagles.)