What. The. Hell. was I thinking?!
There I was, updating Ian's show record to include the PVKC shows last weekend. Looking through the judges I've shown to and the comments I made about each to remind me of the experience the next time I see their names on a premium list. (Do I enter one dog? Both? Do I spend hours grooming or do a quick spit-and-polish? Do I wear a top and some slacks or put on the shortest skirt and deepest V-neck I can find? Or do I take one glance at the premium list and run screaming?)
And then this idea struck me. How many ribbons are there really in that seemingly bottomless stack of purple-and-whites? How many times was Ian robbed? How many times was it a toss-up, and how many times was he simply beaten by a better dog?
How much money have I spent on entry fees?
Even as the right half of my brain was screaming, "Stop!! Don't do it!!" the left side of my brain was instructing my right hand to pick up the calculator and add up the numbers. The neuron had already fired. My inner dogsport enthusiast cringed in horror as the number went up... and up... and up...
I. Did Not. Need to know that. At all. Like, ever. And this wasn't even considering gas and food and hotels and dog toys and omigod-I-have-to-have-that-brush and the grooming table arm that I forgot on the top of the car while I was packing and lost as I was flying down the interstate. No, that was just the entry fees. I so did not need to know that.
More importantly, my husband DOES NOT NEED to know.