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Reason #8 I am Single: Hami is my boyfriend.

Yes, we’re into single digits for a hot second, because this reason is that serious. It’s more serious than the relationship I have with my apartment, because when I’m stepping out on my apartment Kristen Stewart style (BOOM!) I do so with my dog, Hami.

My dog is my boyfriend.

 

I don’t really know when it started. Or who initiated it. I’d like to think it was him, and that I was just really emotionally vulnerable at the time and he took advantage of me. It began probably during My Dark Period which was late 2010, which involved a lot of crying, not showering, and painting a bedroom at my parents’ house orange. Oh, and playing Plants vs. Zombies on my iPhone. So during The Dark Period while I slept, cried, and wallowed in a half orange room on a futon that permanently disfigured my body, Ham started to comfort me. First it was bringing me some sort of toy carcass to wake me up in the morning. Then it was licking my face whenever I was crying hysterically after watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy despite my better judgement and taste (I mean, did they really have to kill off Mandy Moore? WAS THAT NECESSARY?) He was also one of the few that would actually hang out with me, because my lack of showering and inability to leave The Orange Room had seriously hindered my social life. And at first, I just played it off. He wasn’t into me – he was just being a good dog.

Then we moved into our little studio apartment above the garage. And I would wake up every morning and roll over to find Ham facing me with his head on the pillow. Oh. We’ve moved into something a little more serious now. Later on down the road the spooning began. And I’m not going to say that I hated it. And suddenly I started referring to Hami as my boyfriend. Which, you know, is slightly dysfuctional because

a) He’s a dog

and b) Oh, yeah he’s an EFFING DOG.

But that hasn’t really stopped our relationship at all. He never leaves my side. Whenever I am even remotely he sad, he just knows and sits with me. Or brings me a disemboweled owl and licks my knee pit. He bullies the other two dogs when they try to get too much of my attention. He doesn’t like when ANYONE gets too much of my affection. And I mean, I could say I discourage this behavior, because really, Ham, it’s 2012, stop being such a misogynist, I mean it’s not like we’re exclusive, especially since I’m cheating on my apartment with you, so like, chill out, dog. But then he decides to bring his tennis ball to some floozy that happens to be hanging out in my apartment and immediately my response is,

“WHAT THE $&%! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?”

And then there are moments like tonight, where he comes up to me on the chaise lounge and looks at me very sincerely before he barfs up a piece of foam he apparently chewed off of the twin bed in the dressing room. And while most people would be disgusted, I am immediately concerned that he is going to get an intestinal blockage because

MY BOYFRIEND EATS FOAM OFF OF MATTRESSES.

So after disposing of said large piece of foam and following Ham around the apartment until he is decidedly uncomfortable, I start in on a stress cleaning binge which culminates with the decision to bring out the trash, and in my complete neurosis I decide to just carry Ham downstairs with me while I do so because I’m afraid to leave him in the apartment because he might eat some more furniture or an owl figurine and I go outside barefoot, wearing a bright blue tribal muumuu (because this one is the CLEANING muumuu), with trash bag in one hand and small dog in the other and I am COMPLETELY BUSTED by my neighbor, who shouts out,

“REASON YOU ARE SINGLE!”

before I can even begin to try to frame an excuse as to why I am carrying trash and a dog at 10:00 at night.

 

And I keep thinking, how am I supposed to fit a dude into my life when I have an apartment I’m practically engaged to and a serious affair going on with my dog? And really, how would a dude compare to my Ham anyway? Ham sings along to the Dawson’s Creek theme song – at the top of his lungs, no matter what time it is or how ashamed I am. His owl carcass is his favorite toy. He is pretty decent at spooning. So, I mean maybe I’m set.

Maybe I’m not single after all.

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