I would have a big white puffy dress, with layers of tulle that made me look like a Disney princess. My hair would be left out, with long flowy curls that cascaded down my back and swished in the breeze as I danced down the aisle to meet the love of my life. I was always going to have a spring wedding. Warm enough to enjoy the sun but not sunny enough to tarnish my pale skin. My honeymoon would be in Paris where my husband and I would travel for a few months before returning home and settling into a new house just in time for Christmas. Just in time to be gifted a small fluffy puppy dog that would be mine for the foreseeable future.
As a child, this was all I dreamt of, and every year that small fluffy parcel was at the top of my Christmas list;
Dear Santa,
I know that mum said I wasn’t allowed a puppy again, but I promise that I will look after it. I will feed it every day and take it on long walks to use up all its energy. Mum says I should stop asking because Santa doesn’t bring little girls things that their mums don’t approve of but can’t you just break the rules? Just this once? But don’t worry, I understand if you can’t get me a puppy, it’s not like you can just build one in your toy factory anyways, so if you can’t find one in time for Christmas I guess I would just want an iPod touch, please.
Lots of Love,
The goodest girl in Sydney xx
Every Christmas morning, I was devastated when none of my presents moved. Everything else was nice and all but I longed for something to look after, something to love with all my heart. Years went by and I came to terms with the idea that I would indeed have to wait until that one special year where I could ask my husband for anything I wanted, even a puppy dog. But somehow, here I am at 19 years old with a small white puppy cuddled into my lap. The small white puppy my boyfriend gifted me for Christmas.
Apollo.
His name’s Apollo.
I left the naming decision up to my mum, in part a way to lessen the tension that was felt with her disliking of the idea of getting another dog in the first place, but aslo in part to remove agency.
I didn’t want to accept the fact that he was mine. I loved him with all my heart, but naming him would solidify the fact that he was mine.
He was my fluffy, little, white dog, that my boyfriend got for me.
I just couldn’t handle that tension. I couldn’t handle knowing that he had done this for me. He had gone out of his way to give me something I would love, simply because he loves me.
A part of me still can’t handle it.
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