Ha, I thought. What then? That’ll fuck him up!

My husband pointed out that the acquaintance would just say, “Let’s talk after the holidays.”

Then he asked me what good it would do to get this guy to admit the truth.

Let’s pause here.

I have some questions.

Do you like to hear the truth?
Are you annoyed when you know someone is not being straight with you?
Do you practice denial in your daily life?
Do you respect other people’s right to practice denial?
Do you try to avoid being frank about unpleasant things?
And of course: Can you handle the truth?

I can’t handle the untruth. One of my most obnoxious traits is that I go around trying to get people to admit stuff.

There’s a song by Jane’s Addiction called “Ted, Just Admit it“that refers to Ted Bundy, the serial killer who wouldn’t admit to his crimes until just before he was executed.

I think of the title all the time, when someone is expecting me to accept some bullshit, however insignificant. JUST ADMIT IT TED, I feel like yelling. In fact, I think I have yelled it a couple times.

No one likes a friend who acts like a cross examining prosecutor but that doesn’t stop me.

Why can’t everybody just admit everything?

Is Oedipus an allegory about the price of knowing the truth? What about the story of Adam and Eve? Why are there so many myths that reinforce the idea that ignorance is bliss?

The truth might not set you free but it will make me feel better. I just want to hear it and get it over with.

Admit that you’re tired of this confession, which is territory I have already covered, sort of.

Admit that you don’t care about bad faith, as defined in existentialism.

Admit your deepest secret, at least to yourself, and see how liberating it is.

Admit everything, except in a court of law or a 12 step meeting or if your boss finds out you haven’t been filing those things but instead you just threw them in a box somewhere because you were busy fucking around online. Then you should just keep your mouth shut.

My dog is senile. He is sixteen years old, even though we refused to admit he was getting on.

Living in denial was easy until he lost his mind.

Poor Pico! He is completely nuts. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going or what to do when he needs to move backwards or turn around.

He howls for hours. He pants and whines. He often needs help to stand up because his rear legs are so wobbly. He has arthritis and I don’t know what else. The vet advised us that any kind of surgery was out of the question. I like her for not trying to squeeze money out of us.

She’s a wonderful vet even though she’s unsure about penises. My BFF remarked that Pico’s penis is probably the first one she’s seen in years. I think that’s to her credit. She didn’t mind at all when Pico shat on her floor.

I don’t know whether ‘shat’ is a word but I’m using it anyway. My dog has been shitting in the house for more than a week. This ties into my recurring dream that everything is Shit.

This morning, Pico backed himself under a couch and started howling. The more I tried to pull him free, the more he reversed, moving more of his body under the couch and getting stuck. I tried to lift up the couch like mothers can do when their child is underneath a car, but this supermom thing doesn’t seem to work with dogs.

I ran outside and got the drug dealer from the house next to the house next door. He lifted the couch and took a phone call from someone named ‘Josh.’ “I’ll call you in a few minutes, babe” he told Josh.

I am really at a loss here.

Pico still likes his food, even though he forgets where the bowl is. Otherwise, his life seems pretty awful, with all the confusion and anxiety. I personally will not be the one to pull the plug because I’m already permanently traumatized.

Advice, dog owners?