Honey has a lot of admirers on our walks.
- The runner who smiles when I sing out “with me” and Honey steps neatly off the pavement until he passes.
- The cashier who sees her waiting for me calmly when I stop to buy a newspaper at the store.
- And the local cat who is grateful Honey can sit still for a sniff without acting like a ruffian.
It could be easy to hate Little Miss Perfect.
It’s a good thing she isn’t.
Little Miss Perfect on a Bad Day
Honey is a soft, gentle, and sweet girl. Except when she isn’t.
She “demand barks” for dinner or a walk. She pulls on the leash when we walk in the direction of her favorite park. You see no signs of her Canine Good Citizen status when certain people come to visit. And she nearly destroyed our newly renovated bathroom with a misplaced tooth puncture.
Honey is not perfect. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Luckily, I’m not perfect either. And I’m starting to feel better about that.
Perfect is Not the Same as Fun
I used to feel devastated when I wasn’t perfect. As you can imagine, I felt devastated a lot.
I won’t bore you with the long list. But one that caused me the most shame was my bad housekeeping.
I knew my house should always be clean. I just couldn’t do it.
I’d think about inviting people for dinner or having a small party. But I had no hope of ever getting the house clean enough to warrant having company.
If you’re an armchair psychologist, you might wonder if I was actually too shy to have people over and kept my house messy as an excuse. Nah, I’m an extrovert. I love having people around the house.
So what was going on?
I’m not entirely sure. But I knew that telling myself that I couldn’t do something I wanted to do because my house wasn’t perfect was stupid. So I worked on caring less about perfection.
I started with inviting people in and apologizing for the messy house. Now I offer an open invitation to anyone who wants to drop in at any time without warning.
I’ve stopped caring that my house isn’t perfect. And I’m happy that it’s welcoming.
You know what the crazy thing is? Since I stopped caring if my house was perfect, I’ve kept it much neater.
Sure, you’ll see dust on the furniture and golden tumbleweeds rolling away when the heat turns on. But the tables and furniture are uncluttered and there’s plenty of room to serve someone a cup of tea.
Put Little Miss Perfect to Death
Lots of women are possessed by a demon called Little Miss Perfect. I see her influence on Pinterest boards showing thigh gaps (no, the healthy human is not meant to have a gap between her thighs). She pops up when an at-home parent feels ashamed she’s not on a career track. And she leaps out at women who don’t want to raise children but feel guilty for disappointing their parents.
Little Miss Perfect is an a$$hole. Kill her. Kill her dead. And then run over her corpse with a tractor trailer. Or two tractor trailers with a kick-a$$ action hero doing a split in between them.
Have I taken my own advice? Not quite. But I hear Little Miss Perfect coughing. It’s only a matter of time before the walking pneumonia gets her.
It may take years for me to take her out. But I have a feeling that when I do, I’ll be much happier.
Glad My Dog Isn’t Little Miss Perfect
It’s nice to get compliments from strangers on Honey’s behavior. But if she was perfect all the time, she’d be just like any other perfect dog.
It makes me laugh that her squeaky toy makes her so happy, even if I’m trying to have a serious conversation. It irritates the heck out of me when Honey stands at the back door staring at me but refuses to come inside. But it did give me something to write about on the blog. And it has gotten me to do door training with her.
In the end, it’s not the perfect part of Honey I love the most. It’s the imperfect parts. They’re what make her special.
And if it’s true for her, maybe it’s true for me too. What’s good for the dog is also good for me.
Your Turn: Do you love your dog’s imperfections? How about your own?
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