ONE OF A CURIOUS breed of Manhattan guys who can’t accept that he is living in the city and shouldn’t have a huge dog in his tiny apartment. In this case, the dog is a blubbering Great Dane.
Tracey met him at a friend’s dinner party and calls methe next day, cautiously excited. “This guy’s amazing, Kayla! He’s an analyst for Goldman Sachs. Went to Brown. Says he’s a chocolate snob. I hope he calls.”
He does call, and they have a great first date at a Thai restaurant. Jason is a vegetarian who eats fish, and they split a double order of shrimp pad thai.
For their second date, Jason invites her over for a home-cooked meal. Tracey is impressed—he’s handsome, witty and a passionate chef! She always felt that she deserved a man who is talented in the kitchen as well as the bedroom.
She arrives a fashionable fifteen minutes late, having dropped fifty bucks for a bottle of red. She knows she looks great in a new white halter dress.
The moment she walks in the door, Jason shouts, “Down, Buddy, down!”
But the dog is already on top of her, jumping up and shoving her back with two forceful paws. Tracey stumbles back, handing off the wine bottle. The dog weighs more than she does.
Jason grabs the dog’s collar. “ Down, boy. Sorry, he’s just being playful. He’s only a puppy.”
That is a puppy? Tracey thinks. He’s going to get bigger?
Deciding to be a good sport, Tracey smoothes her dress and pets the dog. Buddy tries to jump up again, but Jason has a firm hold on him. “Would you let him smell you for a minute? Come a little closer. If he can smell you, he’ll calm down.”
Tracey takes a step closer. Hopefully Buddy will be soothed by Estée Lauder’s Pleasures.
Suddenly Buddy breaks away from Jason and sticks his nose right in Tracey’s crotch.
Tracey gives a horrified shriek.
“Easy, he’s just getting familiar with you.”
Tracey shudders, bearing it for a minute before Jason pulls the dog back. She feels violated. What right does this dog have to stick his face in between her legs?
“I’d better get to the kitchen before something burns. Have a seat. Let me open this wine.”
She sits on a bar stool. Out of the corner of her eye, she’s surveying Buddy’s movements. She notices a tear in one of her nylons from his initial attack.
Jason, of course, is focused on cooking. He opens the wine and pours them each a glass, and comments that it’s fantastic wine, and she says it’s Napa Valley.
The wine and the delicious aromas of the meal have a calming effect on Tracey. She glances over at Buddy, feeling sorry for the poor thing. It can’t be easy being such a big dog in a small one-bedroom. Perhaps she shouldn’t be angry that he tore her nylons. He surely didn’t mean to.
An explosive farting sound tears through the apartment. Jason laughs. “Holy shit! Buddy’s never done that in front of company before. Sorry!”
“It’s okay,” says Tracey, all compassion. Poor Buddysuffers from gastrointestinal issues on top of everything else.
And then the smell hits her.
She waves a hand in front of her face. “Can I open a window?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, they sit down to a lovely, candlelit dinner. The only flaw? Buddy’s flatulence kicks into high gear.
Jason can’t stop laughing. “I took him for a walk earlier and caught him nibbling on some roadkill. Must’ve made him sick.”
“I see.” Tracey’s food suddenly becomes less appetizing. The evening is going downhill fast. She hopes dinner will be done quickly so they can get out of this place and away from this dog.
But the worst is yet to come.
As Jason is clearing the dinner plates, Buddy jumps up to get some scraps.
The next event occurs as if in slow motion.
With a huge paw, Buddy slaps a plate out of Jason’s hand. The plate does a backward flip and lands in Tracey’s lap.
Tracey lifts the plate and looks down in horror. Tomato sauce all over her white dress!
“Shit, sorry.” Jason
Tracey met him at a friend’s dinner party and calls methe next day, cautiously excited. “This guy’s amazing, Kayla! He’s an analyst for Goldman Sachs. Went to Brown. Says he’s a chocolate snob. I hope he calls.”
He does call, and they have a great first date at a Thai restaurant. Jason is a vegetarian who eats fish, and they split a double order of shrimp pad thai.
For their second date, Jason invites her over for a home-cooked meal. Tracey is impressed—he’s handsome, witty and a passionate chef! She always felt that she deserved a man who is talented in the kitchen as well as the bedroom.
She arrives a fashionable fifteen minutes late, having dropped fifty bucks for a bottle of red. She knows she looks great in a new white halter dress.
The moment she walks in the door, Jason shouts, “Down, Buddy, down!”
But the dog is already on top of her, jumping up and shoving her back with two forceful paws. Tracey stumbles back, handing off the wine bottle. The dog weighs more than she does.
Jason grabs the dog’s collar. “ Down, boy. Sorry, he’s just being playful. He’s only a puppy.”
That is a puppy? Tracey thinks. He’s going to get bigger?
Deciding to be a good sport, Tracey smoothes her dress and pets the dog. Buddy tries to jump up again, but Jason has a firm hold on him. “Would you let him smell you for a minute? Come a little closer. If he can smell you, he’ll calm down.”
Tracey takes a step closer. Hopefully Buddy will be soothed by Estée Lauder’s Pleasures.
Suddenly Buddy breaks away from Jason and sticks his nose right in Tracey’s crotch.
Tracey gives a horrified shriek.
“Easy, he’s just getting familiar with you.”
Tracey shudders, bearing it for a minute before Jason pulls the dog back. She feels violated. What right does this dog have to stick his face in between her legs?
“I’d better get to the kitchen before something burns. Have a seat. Let me open this wine.”
She sits on a bar stool. Out of the corner of her eye, she’s surveying Buddy’s movements. She notices a tear in one of her nylons from his initial attack.
Jason, of course, is focused on cooking. He opens the wine and pours them each a glass, and comments that it’s fantastic wine, and she says it’s Napa Valley.
The wine and the delicious aromas of the meal have a calming effect on Tracey. She glances over at Buddy, feeling sorry for the poor thing. It can’t be easy being such a big dog in a small one-bedroom. Perhaps she shouldn’t be angry that he tore her nylons. He surely didn’t mean to.
An explosive farting sound tears through the apartment. Jason laughs. “Holy shit! Buddy’s never done that in front of company before. Sorry!”
“It’s okay,” says Tracey, all compassion. Poor Buddysuffers from gastrointestinal issues on top of everything else.
And then the smell hits her.
She waves a hand in front of her face. “Can I open a window?”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later, they sit down to a lovely, candlelit dinner. The only flaw? Buddy’s flatulence kicks into high gear.
Jason can’t stop laughing. “I took him for a walk earlier and caught him nibbling on some roadkill. Must’ve made him sick.”
“I see.” Tracey’s food suddenly becomes less appetizing. The evening is going downhill fast. She hopes dinner will be done quickly so they can get out of this place and away from this dog.
But the worst is yet to come.
As Jason is clearing the dinner plates, Buddy jumps up to get some scraps.
The next event occurs as if in slow motion.
With a huge paw, Buddy slaps a plate out of Jason’s hand. The plate does a backward flip and lands in Tracey’s lap.
Tracey lifts the plate and looks down in horror. Tomato sauce all over her white dress!
“Shit, sorry.” Jason
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