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Scott and I are deep into watching For All Mankind, a fun series about space and the insane people who go up into it. All I keep thinking while watching it is “no thank you.”
“What do you say, rookie? You up for a little danger?”
I am definitely not sir but thank you for asking.
“Hey big shot, let’s see what you’re made of.”
Oh ma’am, I know what I am made of. It is pudding. I am a sack of pudding. I will sit this one out.
(Side note, Deanna and I were talking about how the phrase “let’s see what you’re made of” would cause either of us to immediately flee the scene. What I’m made of? I don’t want to see it!)
We were watching the end of this episode where two astronauts go up in f-16s or b-52s or something, I don’t what planes are, and one of them is like “Oh-ho, let me do this barrel roll and then ollie ollie oxenfree” and the other alpha is like “Two can play at that game, edgelord” and then they both call out in unison, “We work hard and play harder” as they dogfight each other straight into the sea, laughing all the way down.
Much of this show is far too thrilling for my sensibilities, and I often declare, usually while fanning myself, “I do not understand.” There are many types of people in this world, and I’m the kind who prefers the indoors. There’s a street around the corner from ours that has a pretty dramatic dip and if I drive it without braking, my tum-tum goes all whoopsy-daisy and I feel like I’m living life on the edge. So yeah, if everyone were like me, we’d never have invented planes. Everyone would be sitting around, like, I’m not in hurry to see Europe. You know what’s better? Staying very still, preferably with a dog on one’s lap.
So the other day we’re done with this particular episode and I said to Scott, “We should go check out the supermoon.” It was right outside, after all, and it seemed rude to ignore it.
“Let’s take Hazel,” said Scott, which was already a bit too exciting for me. Hazel’s heart condition makes it so walking more than a couple of blocks causes her to faint—an especially upsetting occurrence as our vet has warned us that one day, and I quote, “she’ll faint and that will be that.”
But took her we did, because we had gestured toward her leash and she was losing her mind. The moment we stepped outside, I thought, it is much darker out here than I thought it would be. I still haven’t acclimated to non-city nighttimes, and as we ventured out to a spot where we could better see the moon (which was super), I started to get that familiar “I’m going to fly into space” phobic feeling I get from, well, from being outdoors.
So embarrassing.
Scott was trying to take pictures with his phone and I was testily informing him that they wouldn’t come out (they didn’t) but really I was covering up my increasing panic and shame at the increasing panic. “Let’s go down here to see better,” Scott said, and pointed to a spot about five yards away, and I was like, “I’ve seen enough, I’m good” and he wondered what my problem was and I thought about lying down on the ground until the sun rose.
Eventually I had to confess that I was vertiginous, and Scott, being who he is, kindly suggested we get me back inside. Just then we heard steps behind us—the softest of pitter-pats. I was like, ah, of course, and now we shall be murdered. We turned and saw what I first took to be some kind of small bear and then I realized was a bloodthirsty dog on the loose.
The dog slavered at us.
“Hey buddy,” Scott said, and the dog came right around to me and approached Hazel so that he could eat her. I scooped Hazel up and went “whoa whoa whoa” and this absolutely enormous dog sniffed at me and although he seemed calm (and unnervingly quiet) I wondered when he was going to snap and eat my face. I’m not normally nervous around dogs, but a collarless beast who approaches you in the night? I know my Omen lore; that’s a hellhound. Soon he was going to convince me to hang myself.
“Nice doggie?” I whispered, unconvincingly. “Good doggie.”
We started walking toward home and the animal silently followed us. “We’re going to die,” I assured Scott.
Just then a neighbor pulled up and asked if the dog was ours. As Scott began to interact with them and the dog followed him, I scurried back inside, Hazel in my arms.
Anyway, postscript: the dog’s owner was quickly located, but not before our neighbor posted a picture of him on our local Facebook group:
Bone-chilling.
“Ah, of course, now we shall be murdered” is also how I live my life, but I kinda like it that way.
The good news (for you) is that For All Mankind gets a whooooole lot less thrilling after the first couple of seasons. You'll be able to handle it just fine.