Keeping Up Appearances

Ann: I’m going nuts. I’ve got to get my house ready for all my out of town guests coming for Hannah’s birthday and graduation.

Pam: I don’t know about you but I do all kinds of crazy stuff when I’m expecting company.

Ann: You mean clean like a fiend?

Pam: Well that, yes. But I’m talking about silly stuff I do. Like I hide my daughter’s tabloid magazines and clear the nasty-grams I’ve left the kids off of the front of the fridge. I don’t want anyone to see that I left a note for the kids saying, “For God’s sake, close your bedroom window or I’m going to charge you for the electric bill!”

Ann: I do stuff like that too. I look over the books I have lying around to be sure there’s nothing that might be too revealing. When I had people coming over last week I tucked away No More Hot Flashes and replaced it with Time Travel in Einstein's Universe.

Pam: I always start in the downstairs powder room. If the toilet paper roll is below half way through, I’ll put a new one on even if only one person is coming over.

Ann: That’s kind of weird…even for you. Why do you do that?


Pam: I don’t know. I guess it has something to do with wanting to look prosperous. I guess that’s the reason I also fill up the dog’s water and food to the top. I hate to admit it but I do other strange stuff getting ready for company. But first you have to tell me something else you do so I won’t feel so weird.

Ann: Well my shame is mainly in the kitchen. First, I hide the teetering pile of mail I haven’t sorted through yet. I usually stick it in a paper bag and put it in the closet in the office. Then I hit the pantry and the fridge. My mother is a fabulous Italian cook and so to this day, no matter who’s coming over, I’m compelled to hide jars of spaghetti sauce, packaged pasta, canned mushrooms, shredded cheese, and canned pie filling. That stuff is supposed to be made from scratch.


Pam: I don’t hide convenience foods. Everyone knows I don’t do a lot of cooking. But I do hide junk food. I check the fridge and pantry and hide the Spaghetti O’s behind the green beans and Fruit Loops behind the Bran Flakes.

Ann: Okay, I can top that. Once I offered my house for a huge party for an organization I belong to. There would be a lot of people I didn’t know well. But I ran out of time getting ready and my garage was still a huge embarrassing disaster. So I put a big sign on the door from the family room leading into the garage that said, ‘Do not open—large, MEAN dog!’

Pam: But you don’t even have a dog.

Ann: Well the people who knew me well enough to know I didn’t have a dog knew why the sign was there and the people who didn’t know I didn’t have a dog wouldn’t see the mess.

Pam: Cute trick. I wish I’d thought of it and I do have a dog. Usually after I get the powder room and the kitchen done, I check my bedroom and bathroom. But in there I usually have to go the opposite way. I’ve actually moved things off my nightstand because I thought it would look like I intentionally left it out to be seen!

Ann: Like what?

Pam: Oh, like my prayer book or Bible. I once put away a CD on my nightstand called The Healing Harp because I thought people might think I was all metaphysical and stuff.

Ann: I used to hide my hair color but I don’t care anymore.

Pam: Yeah, I used to be embarrassed by my teenager’s choice of DVD’s in the game room. Their collection seemed to lack any shred of intellectual curiosity at all. I just wish there was a Cosmos or The Elegant Universe among the Dumb & Dumber and Austin Powers.

Ann: The crazy thing is that you know every woman does the same things. No one wants to be caught living the way they actually live. So everyone scrambles for the image.

Pam: We should all just agree not to worry about keeping up appearances.

Ann: What a relief that’d be. We could quit scrambling every time we’re expecting company.

Pam: I agree. You go first.

For Dog And Country

Pam: When I was walking Misfit last night that crazy Chihuahua started straining at the leash and boldly yapping away at this huge Great Dane. Good thing that other dog was on a strong leash because he could’ve eaten Misfit in one bite.

Ann: Misfit is clueless about his size.

Pam: Or lack thereof!

Ann: Well, he’s been treated like a king by Kate his whole life. Why shouldn’t he be under the impression he rules all? He really is spoiled isn’t he?

Pam: Yeah and it drives me crazy. I would never wish him harm, but I’m telling you, I’d like to figure out a way for him to live happily ever after—elsewhere.

Ann: There’s nothing worse than a Chihuahua with a superiority complex.

Pam: You can say that again. Once I was telling Kate that Misfit doesn’t know his place. I asked her, “Does he think he’s a human being?” She gasped and told me, “He’s offended by the question!”

Ann: At least Misfit’s little and even though he’s full of himself, you can always overrule him physically. When a big dog gets that kind of attitude it can really be a problem.

Pam: That’s what happened to my mom. When I was little, my dad had a big German Shepherd named Thor. That dog was a real handful for my mom.

Ann: Is that when your family lived on the Air Force Base?

Pam: Yeah. At the time, my dad was an officer in the Strategic Air Command. When he was on “alert” he would have to live in the Alert Shack for days at a time, leaving my mom home with three kids under age six and his big German Shepherd, Thor.

Ann: I’m sure Thor was a good watchdog though, huh?

Pam: My mom didn’t think so. He gave her so much trouble that one day when my dad was away on alert, she called the military police to come “take care” of Thor.

Ann: You’re kidding! She called the MP’s on the DOG? What? Did she expect them to bring four little buckets of cement and give him a ride to the river?

Pam: Hey, you think you’re kidding but she told them to shoot him.

Ann: Would they do such a thing?

Pam: No. They knew it was an officer’s dog and that my mom was just an overwrought housewife. They figured they’d just haul him off and take care of him until my dad was back home.

Ann: So what happened when your dad came home and his dog was gone?

Pam: I’m not sure. I was pretty young. I know she wanted Thor shot and my dad wanted Thor home. But they reached a compromise of some kind.

Ann: How do you know?

Pam: Because a few weeks later we were driving home from church back through the main gate of the base. And guess who was standing at attention at the guard’s side, ears erect, and looking quite regal in his military collar and shiny silver leash?

Ann: Not Thor!

Pam: None other! The MP’s had been so taken with him while they were holding him for my dad, that they convinced my father to allow Thor to join the Military Working Dogs as a guard dog on the base.

Ann: So your dad got to see him and visit with him but your mom didn’t have to put up with him. Good solution. But didn’t you kids miss Thor at home? How did they explain it to you guys?

Pam: That was easy. They just told us that Thor had been drafted!

Ann: Well maybe that’s your solution for your spoiled Chihuahua….Doggy Boot Camp. But I guess Misfit’s too old for military service, huh?

The Little Lady In Charge

Pam: I’m at this big conference and I’m getting a little tired of the patronizing pats on the head I’ve been getting.

Ann: What do you mean?

Pam: You know in my industry I'm outnumbered 100 to 1, men to women. I swear, every time I’m introduced they say, “And here’s the little lady who REALLY holds the power in that company. She’s the REAL boss. Right Pam?”

Ann: It sounds like they’re trying to pay you a compliment.

Pam: Maybe. But most of the time it feels more like there’s a bit of ‘wink, wink’ going on among the men. Sort of, “Let’s throw her a bone and make her feel important, but we know she's just the person who takes care of the details. We men are the real big picture thinkers!”

Ann: You’ve slipped into your super-cynical mode.

Pam: No, really. Their tone reminds me of when we used to tell our two-year-olds how much help they’ve been with folding the laundry. But not being two, I’m actually offended by it.

Ann: Yeah, I’ve been there. In my pre-mom professional days when I was a chemical engineer, I was telling my dad and uncle about a pilot plant I was designing. I was proud of my team and the new technologies we’d developed. My uncle’s response to my career accomplishments was, “How cute!”

Pam: Did he pat you on the head and give you a lollipop too?

Ann: Practically! I was insulted, but I let it go because I figured he still saw me as the little girl he used to hold upside down to make me giggle.


Pam: Yeah, my grandfather used to do the same thing to me. One time, I took my new puppy to see him, eager to impress him with my dog-training abilities. I put the little dog through his entire repertoire and I couldn’t wait to hear my grandfather’s praise of my hard work and talent. But his reaction to the impressive performance was, “Smart dog ya got there!”

Ann: Yeah, men who knew us as children sometimes seem to have a hard time seeing us as competent women. I guess a competent dog is easier to accept.

Pam: So how do you explain the men at the conference who have only known me as an adult? They keep giving me these condescending pats on the head.

Ann: Maybe they’re hoping you’ll wag your tail.