Isaac/Ainsley: Dog Person

There's too much to write about, so I write nothing.

And it's not like I'm that short on free time! For now, anyway. I feel like Heather's been more productive than me in her free time though she's already started at Sara's office. But every little detail of somehow cramming my self into the hole left behind by Ainsley Thomas could be its own post. I can't write one of these every single day, and it just piles up uncontrollably. The same type of deferred maintenance happens when a person disappears from their life for nearly a month.

Take Ainsley's dog. That was the first thing she asked me about when I finally texted her the day after we landed, and she successfully guilted me into heading for the kennel as my first chore the next day. I left while I was still too groggy to worry about going out in public. For my courage I was rewarded with death glares from some very unhappy kennel workers, a late fee I have no idea whether Ainsley's checking account can handle, and a large golden retriever who pounced on me before I could react.

His name is SugarBunny. Seriously, what kind of person names a dog that? It's got a capital letter in the middle of the word! And it's not a bunny!! Should I start calling my pothos vines Venus flytraps?? The dog's not even white! I can't even type SugarBunny without grimacing a little bit. I hope Ainsley doesn't read the blog, she's clearly struggling a lot with leaving him behind and it'd be better if she doesn't know I just don't have it in me to dote on a pet the way she does. I'm a plant guy.

The dog is actually fairly well-trained, and he deserves having a caretaker who doesn't get on edge every time a dog walks in begging for food and/or pets. But he will make clear if I've forgotten to take him on one of his two daily walks, which isn't compatible with my plan to be a complete shut-in. So I have to put on clothes and be out in the world at his whim-- which especially sucks because dogs are magnets for attention! Every dog he comes across has to go through this elaborate butt-sniffing ritual that for sure doesn't last as long as it feels, and I'm held hostage to make small talk with the owner. They all want to know his name (just as painful to say as it is to type), how old he is (I need to remember to ask Ainsley that), whether they can pet him, his birthday, how many littermates he had, his social security number, and if they're a guy roughly my age (or not!) if they can set up a doggy play-date. Yeah, I bet you'd like one, wouldn't you. And that's still not as bad as when I meet someone who knows Ainsley and SugarBunny and they're wondering why I'm suddenly way less enthusiastic about chatting them up. I don't think she's friends with any of these people, she's just that kind of person. There's all sorts of pictures of local dogs in her phone. Look, I can fake being a marketer but there's some lines I won't cross.

Heather looks at me like I'm a psychopath when I tell her all this, naturally, but whenever I ask if she'd rather walk the dog, most of the time she'll just fire back that it's not her problem. I mean, sure, it isn't, but she doesn't have the right to complain about that. Only I do!

Of course, I could have it worse. I'd rather Ainsley have a dog than a boyfriend. And the real Ainsley and Sara have some caretaking of their own to do, as the mother and father of a toddler whose grandparents were politely furious about being stuck with her unplanned for an extra two weeks.

If there's one good thing about SugarBunny it's that he can't verbally question why his owner's acting so weird and provides an excuse to avoid anyone who can. Ainsley's been practically inseparable from some of the girls in her messages since they were her sorority sisters back in college, and I'm running out of bigger excuses. Ainsley had me end the "digital detox" before too long and now the reason I'm not showing up for brunch or Girls Night is that "I" "have" "Covid", but I can't keep this up indefinitely. Especially because Ainsley's supposed to be a bridesmaid at some point this fall, and I'm going to have to show up for stuff like dress fittings and the bachelorette party and I just, do not understand how to act like or talk to any of these people. I've been avoiding people like Ainsley and her friends since high school, not because of any way they've wronged me, just that I don't find them relatable in any way. And it terrifies me that I might ruin someone's life just because I unavoidably come across like someone who locks themself in a box full of plants. It's like the dog thing. My whole life I've felt apart from most people, like I'm defective somehow, and I... Bluh. I hate how easily this body starts crying. I don't know if it's the trauma from having my life uprooted or if Ainsley's just like this.

But I'm not gonna cry over spending all day today keeping up with Taylor/Travis engagement memes enough to look like Ainsley isn't dead. That's more comprehensible to me than Love Island, even if I can't name more than a handful of Taylor Swift songs. I'll write up some more about these people once I get a better handle on them.

That's all I have for now. Oh, and I talked to the guy in my body, but he's apparently a mid-thirties guy and he hasn't said anything too concerning yet. I'll take that as a good sign.