Over her kale and goji berry smoothie, she thinks to herself, “The Pure Barre classes I’ve been teaching are packed, my ass looks great, and I’m pretty much a walking lululemon ad. But something’s missing.”
Taking out her gold iPhone 6 Plus, she fervently starts swiping through Hinge before reaching the daily limit. No matches. She contemplates re-downloading Tinder but remembers that it’s just filled with creeps and losers these days. Plus, she read on Mashable’s Twitter that you have to pay now? As if. “Guys should be paying to meet me, not the other way around,” runs through her mind as she mulls around her apartment while listening to the new Mumford album.
She needs something more. After all, you can only get so much enjoyment and satisfaction out of teaching two Pure Barre classes a week. Sure, her students are everything to her, but the gratification of seeing them develop only lasts for 55 minutes before she settles in for some much needed Food Network for the night.
So she changes into her cutest Sunday casual post-brunch outfit and decides to do what every girl needs to do for themselves on a regular basis. Two words: Retail. Therapy.
Tromping down the street with her Apple EarPods in and her mind racing with thoughts of shoes and scarves, her dad’s American Express card is pretty much burning a hole in her handbag at this point. But she gets interrupted by her friend Cassie just before turning the corner to get her Starbies. “Girl! Where have you been all my life?” she exclaims before peering down and seeing a pure-bread labradoodle attached to a pink and green leash. “Oh. My. God. Who is this little one?!” is quickly followed by a slew of unintelligible dog/baby talk.
Cassie describes her dog and answers all the questions about its age, lineage, poop habits, and whether or not she “gets hair all over her apartment” or not. Which obviously the dog doesn’t because everyone knows labradoodles are hypoallergenic, don’t shed, and are “perfect for the city.”
They make empty plans before parting ways, both knowing that the brunch they half-heartedly discussed will never happen. Glad to see Cassie but already thinking of excuses to not hang out with her this weekend, she can’t stop thinking about one thing: that dog. Her mind is just fixated on this. It all makes too much sense. “I’m totally at a place in my life where I can get a puppy. I have a steady job, I’m single (despite being a total catch), and I’ve been staying in so much more now that I’ve tried every restaurant in the city.”
She calls an audible and skips Nordstrom in favor of heading home to do her due diligence on getting one of these pups for herself. But she’s nervous about just flat-out copying Cassie. “Like, I’d get a chihuahua but they are just so ‘Yo Quiero Taco Bell’ and a Yorkie would just be way too Paris Hilton of me,” she thinks to herself while fervently scrolling her iPad for shelters and breeders. “I feel like I should get a rescue dog but they just seem so… icky. Ugh, fuck it, I should just text Cassie and see who she got her puppy through.”
After hashing out the details and discussing that the breeder is just 45 minutes north of the city, she circles her calendar for the following Saturday to take the plunge — and it can’t come soon enough. She spends all week researching doodle diets, Lilly Pulitzer collars and leashes, and Tempurpedic dog beds.
Once Saturday finally arrives, she couldn’t be more prepared. Bowl of water in the kitchen for already-named Sperry’s arrival? Check. Newspaper laid across the backseat of her white Mercedes SUV? Check. A blank check with “*PuPpy!!!*” written as the memo? In hand.
Thoughts race through her head while en route to find her perfect match. “Would anyone even really notice if I just changed my yoga journey’s Instagram account into one for my Doodle? I mean, those are my followers. I acquired them and I can’t just lose them. And like, I know I’m pretty dead set on calling it ‘Sperry’ but what if it just isn’t a ‘Sperry’? Ugh. What am I thinking? If it’s anything like me, it will totally be a ‘Sperry.’”
She pulls into the breeder’s house and it isn’t the magical puppy farm that she imagined. There are no sweeping plains with packs of labradoodles running through rainbows and drinking out of streams. It’s a double-wide with a dirt driveway and a pick-up truck that has the license plate “LAB DOOD.”
“Ew, I need to get this thing and get out of here before someone murders me.” Leaving her car running as she approaches the house, she can barely hear herself think over all the barking going on in the backyard. She quickly introduces herself to the breeder and scurries to the backyard where all the puppies are playing with each other. And then it happens. She sees the one.
Delicately walking over to this puppy as to not get mud on her Toms, it’s love at first sight. This one is Sperry. She covets Sperry. She is Sperry, and Sperry is her. This puppy is “everything.” After all of five minutes of deliberation, she works out all the details with the breeder before frantically writing the amount in the check knowing that her dad would think it’s crazy for her to spend this much on a dog, but like, dad, can you even put a price on companionship?
She gets in the car with the newborn puppy and they drive back to the city with Sperry in her lap the entire way. Her and Sperry have a one-sided conversation where they cover whether or not Sperry likes Taylor Swift and whether or not Sperry knows that she’s “the cutest puppy in the whole wide world.”
As she pulls into her parking garage, all she can think about is what she’ll get more likes using: #dogsofinstagram or #puppiesofinstagram. “Fuck it, I’ll just use both. The world needs to see this dog.”.
Image via Shutterstock