Le chien

Yeah, it's pretty much official now. Mr. Big's coming to live with us, after we get married in the fall. So, as the new character in the This is life series, I thought you all should meet him before he gets here.

When I start talking about a puppy relieving himself on my new home's floors, you will understand without my having to stop my frustration-filled blog post to remind you that, hello, Mr. Big is our DOG.

We came to a mutual agreement about getting Mr. Big (he's been named Mr. Big before he even existed, as this is the name Dave and I agreed to in 2004, when I discovered on TBS what the rest of the world had seen on HBO, "Sex and the City").

However, it wasn't exactly as if we had sung "Let's get a dog!" in unison while leaping, holding hands and doing ballet moves on a hill filled with flowers.

This is really more how it went:

"Let's get a dog!" I said. (Not on a hill with flowers, but in our kitchen, which in no way resembles a hill or flowers.) I've been saying this since the day I met Dave, for the record.

"Are you going to walk him?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to take him outside in the winter to let him go to the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to feed him and take care of him? Or will I end up taking care of him?"

"I will!"

"(Sigh) OK. But I'm remembering this moment," he said, laughing.

Me too. Oh, wait, no, that was just deja vu from my childhood.

Though he's right to ask. Because, come February, I bet I can get him to take the dog outside in exchange for doing dishes or something. See? Trade-offs, just like we learned in marriage class.

(Photo: I'm supposed to tell you that my little brother took this photo. So, there. He did.)