[Poll] Tuesday in the Park with the Earthling. And Strangers.

[thefourthvine]

Ever since I realized, back in college, that I was dropping social cues with the kind of consistency most people reserve for breathing, I have maintained two mental lists, and I spend at least a small part of every day going over them: Social Cues Dropped (But at Least, in Retrospect, I Know What I Was Supposed to Do or Say) and Social Clues Dropped (No Clue What Should Have Happened.) I am pleased to say that the second list is generally shorter these days than it used to be. (The other one is much, much longer. But this post is not about my oddities.)

There is also a third mental list that I update less frequently. It is probably best titled simply WTF?, although I think of it as Other People's Mistakes.

Today, I had an interaction that I am tentatively slotting into the third category, but I'd like your opinion on it.

Because of an unexpected appointment cancellation, I took the earthling to the park rather later than is usual. After some time on the swings and the playset, the earthling went into climb-every-mountain mode and began slogging up the highest hill in the park.

At the top of that hill is a stone bench and table. When we got there, there was a man, middle-aged and normal looking, sitting on the bench, and a dog, one of those big silky collies that always look dignified even when they are running into trees, sitting at his feet. (This one did not, while I watched, run into a tree, but I will never forget seeing a collie do that. It changed my view of them forever.) When we got near the bench, the earthing experienced summit sadness and began refusing to go in any direction that was not further up, which was problematic, since we were as high as we could go. Observing me negotiating with the earthling, the normal (looking) man leaned over and said to me, thoughtfully:

"You know, I think my dog is the love of my life."

"Yes, dogs are wonderful," I said, most of my mind on the earthling.

"I've never felt this way about anyone else," he said.

"They're really wonderful," I agreed, starting to feel like I was joining a conversation already in progress.

"She's sure better than any woman," he said, sort of chuckling. Then he paused, and in a low, more personal tone added, "Or any man."

"...Oh?" I said.

"I really do love this dog. I mean love this dog," he continued. "People can't understand that, but it is what it is and I don't regret it." He paused for a second, then added, "I just wish people were open-minded. That's what I always say: keep an open mind."

"That's, um, nice. You have a good day, now," I said, and scooped up the earthling and carried him, protesting vigorously, toward the car.

So, my question to you people is: was that as weird as it felt at the time? And if so, when did it go off the rails?

[Poll #1480467]

Comments

[chinawolf.livejournal.com]

That was either extremely bizarre, or there is actually a simple explanation. Could it be that he has seen you before, in the company of Best Beloved? And that he was making sure you knew that - upon reflection - he thought same-sex relationships, even those raising children, were quite okay, even if he had hitherto always thought they weren't? And he convinced himself of that because other people had told him before that he loves his dog too much, i.e. should shift his love from the dog to a person who is "suitable", and he compares that situation to same sex relationships who are supposed to shift away their love to someone of the opposite gender?

I dunno. That's how it reads to me if I discount the theory that he's a guy who is intimate with his dog and likes to overshare. ;)

[mari-redstar.livejournal.com]

I was wondering if it might be something along those lines, especially since the guy stuck "or any man!" in there- maybe he thought he was having a conversation more like "Now, some people, they don't think we should let those homosexualists get married, but me, I figure so what? So they love each other! Love's great! I love my dog, for instance, and lots of people tell me that's weird- Clyde, they say to me, does Betsy here really need her own chair at the table, do you have to hand-stitch sixteen different collars for her to go with her seasonal bandanas- but hey, nothing wrong with that, is there? And that's just like this hullabaloo over gay marriage- people ought to be accepting of each other, that's what I'm saying, using a really weird metaphor that I may not have explained out loud enough."

Why he felt the need to have that conversation, or to strike into it with a stranger without even any small talk about the weather first, is still an open question, but at least it would dial the weird back to less bestiality-y levels.