I haven’t been sleeping well the last few months, and it’s driving Andy crazy, because when I can’t sleep, I feel like he should also not want to sleep, so he can talk to me about stuff until he bores me enough that I pass out.

Andy hates this idea, mostly because he has to wake up at 4am for work, but also because I refuse to see a doctor to remedy the situation.

Most nights, we talk about about random things, like the kids’ school or upcoming plans or if he thinks my hair looked good that day.

Other times, it’s weird and prolific, like when you’re laying in the field behind your parent’s house, stoned, wondering why the moon looks mean or why sassafras is even a word in real life.

Last night was one of those times.

I’ve decided this whole love thing is like a Great Dane puppy.

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So, you spend years and years and years looking for someone who is ok with big dogs.

You think you find them in guys who look like pet lovers, but finger you in the back bedroom at a wrestling party, and never call you again. Guys that ditch you mid-date, leaving you at the restaurant while you are in the bathroom. Guys who are just really, excessively interested in anal sex. Or maybe even guys who strictly want all foreplay to happen through a collection of hand puppets. Have you even been gone down on by a puppet? Those kind of guys shouldn’t be allowed to have pets, at all. Maybe just robot ones, and even then, glue the battery hole shut.

But then you come across this guy who never really fancied himself a dog person, because he always had cats.

So at first, he’s kinda freaked out that the dog is so all over the place and without boundaries. He doesn’t really care about the size, or that the dog has really bad taste in movies and laughs at her own jokes a lot.

It doesn’t bother him that his family doesn’t much care for big dogs, and that the dog is super bad at taking hints and she tramples all over his shit a lot, because she’s clumsy and her feet are big, and she also probably sniffs through his bathroom garbage can to check for condoms, but she’s just a puppy you know, and probably really insecure.

The older the puppy gets, the more chill things become.

I mean, it’s still fucking insane, but you went through puppy classes with it, so she stops darting toward stanger’s crotches or peeing on the bed to show you she missed you while you were away. I mean, it’s not gross if it’s a wet spot of love.

A few years pass, and you decide you really love this dog, and just plain can’t live without it. Plus, your sick of covering your furniture every fucking time it goes into heat, so you decide to get married and have puppies and everything is wonderful, except, no matter how trained and domesticated the dog is, it’s still a Great Dane.

They’re still big and messy and overstepping and weird and complicated and menacing, but in a really adorable and loveable and awkwardly sexy way, you know?

It’s just how Great Danes are, like, inherently.

Are you the Great Dane in this story, or are you just trying to get me to like the dog more, because if it’s the latter, I’m honestly a little freaked out about all the dog sex imagery.

I don’t think either of us slept last night.

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