Cool, Calm & Contentious - Merrill Markoe [21]
I also wouldn’t find it cute or in any way entertaining to have an assortment of my seemingly inconsolable friends hovering behind me while I was cooking: rushing in to lick any spills or crumbs up off the floor, than staring, drooling, and pleading with me to give them a morsel of food. Even if they had earned my empathy with their stories of escape from some violent, war-torn homeland, I would still find this blatant bit of manipulation so offensive that I would turn and, in a harsh tone of voice, insist that each of them leave the room.
But if, after I did this, they only went as far as the door and then stood there continuing to stare at me and make sorrowful pouty faces, it is unlikely that I would reinforce them further by relenting and giving each of them a small bowl of whatever I was preparing, followed by a kiss on the head. And if, for some reason, I did do this, and their follow-up reaction was to gulp whatever I’d given them down in a single swallow, then look up at me with streams of whatever it was dripping off their noses and chins while still continuing to try to gain my sympathy by appearing wretched, I can guarantee you that I would not react by saying “Awww” and asking them if they might like another helping.
The wide berth I cut for dogs runs counter to the way I have learned, over time, to deal with the dilemma of terrible houseguests. Throughout my life, I have had a number of unfortunate incidents with people who have abused my hospitality by alienating me with their inconsiderate behavior. I have deplored their incompatible rising times, their complaints about the menu, their impulse to talk while I was working. When their stay was over, I was always gleeful as they departed, vowing never to let them spend the night again.
Which is why it is hard to imagine inviting not just one person but four to stay with me for fifteen years, aware that they not only do not speak my language but will never make the slightest attempt to learn. Plus they will also expect me to pay all their medical bills and funeral expenses: privileges I, of course, happily offer my dogs. How insufferable would it be if even one person who came to stay exhibited so little interest in my daily affairs that they never so much as asked what I did for a living? How rude would it seem if they never even offered to help with the dishes? It would not be the least bit endearing if, say, my brother and his family jumped on top of me in the morning before I woke up, then stood there looming over me at six A.M. yelling, “Food! Food! Food! Food!” And if I tried to ignore them by rolling onto my side and placing a pillow over my head and they proceeded to put their faces right next to mine and make whimpering noises, I doubt that my reaction would be to compliment them on their intuitive timekeeping abilities, then jump up, give them a hug, and make them breakfast. Not only that, but also happily pick up all the toys and clothes and garbage they had knocked onto the floor and shredded, no questions asked.
And after breakfast, I definitely wouldn’t allow them to sit with me in my office for hours on end, staring at me while I worked on a book.
If, say, my grandmother sat on my feet, under my desk, her face visible somewhere down by my knees, and every now and then reached over to scratch me on my calf with her really sharp nails before unexpectedly letting out a loud wail of agony that had no meaning except as a way to remind me that there was some activity she wanted me to share with her, well, I can tell you right now that I would want to spend less time with Grandma, not more. I not only wouldn