There was a dog running about the place.
That’s always a good thing when you’re over someone’s house at dinner.
See, if you get served something that is ugly, you can get rid of it in a hurry or two.
Or three hurries–if it’s real bad.
“You can sit here, PVJ,” she said, pulling out my chair.
I sat. Just because it’s the polite thing to do. Usually I like to feel the cushion before sitting, but I didn’t. The professor was trying to be polite, see.
It was a puffy chair. You know, one of those dadblame things that sorta push you higher, even though you want to sit lower.
My legs were touching the bottom of the table.
This wasn’t good. There was no way to sneak food under the table to the dog in this position.
Everyone took their seats. There were about 8 people. That’s not bad. With that many people, one doesn’t need to worry about conversation, see.
I would’ve leaned back and relaxed, but my legs were sorta stuck. It was an issue, I tell you.
“Everyone seated?” she asked.
It was a silly question; an obvious question; a question that shouldn’t have been asked.
‘She’ was the hostess, see. Her husband sat next to her.
We were all served this mushy stuff. And I had to get rid of it.
I did take a taste. Now it was the dog’s turn.
The problem was this: The dog was sitting in the corner, not too far from me, but far enough.
I beckoned to him. Nothing.
“So, PVJ, how’s your work coming?”
“Good,” I answered quickly. “But it’s not worth talking about, since it happened earlier and this is later.”
It was a terse answer, but I was trying to make eye contact with the dog. I couldn’t be bothered.
There were some mutterings from the guests. But I listened not.
I motioned to the dog. Again. This time, he stood into a sitting position. (Only dogs can pull that off, you know.)
“Why are you waving at the dog?” one fellow asked.
“Oh…just saying hi to everyone is all.”
Same woman as before.
“What do you do for work?”
See, women always seem to ask leading questions or fake questions. You know, it’s like they’re gearing up or getting ready to ask the big one. But they’re just not brave enough to come out and ask it.
“I’m not really sure.”
And this professor beckoned the dog again. I was trying to be discrete, but that was over as soon as the dog bounded over to me, jumped up, and buried his head into my plate.
That worked well. I wouldn’t have to eat any of it.
“What a misbehaved dog,” I noted. “I can’t believe this mess.”
“That’s okay,” the hostess replied. “We’ve got plenty more food.”