We’re in the homestretch people. Finals are coming up, the sweet, sweet taste of winter break is almost at the tip of our tongues. And like a normal person, I am looking forward to one thing and one thing only: a reunion with my furry friends. I’m sure most of you can relate to the fact that being away from your pets is one of the most difficult parts about living away from home (at first glance this statement seems to exaggerate how much college students care about their pets, but I’ve seen you fuckers push children out of the way to touch a baby goat so I think I’m well within the scope of reason.)
Skype is great for a couple reasons; you can see friends, families, boyfriends, girlfriends who are miles and miles away. I have never used it for anything other than seeing my dog and cat that live at home with my parents. If you are currently conjuring up an image of me as a crotchety 55-year old bag lady who cares for 98 cats in her spare time, you’re not far off. The point is, a few times a week I coax my parents into putting the dog and cat in front of the little camera hole the NSA probably uses to watch America jack off, and I oo and aww at every blink, breath, and twitch that they might perform for me.
The one hitch in this little routine of mine is that I have roommates and they have ears. According to them, what might in actuality be a nice, potentially employable young woman innocently reconnecting with her pets over technology seems to sound more like a weird and plotless porno that my dad is helping me make. When they first told me this I thought they were just being the perverted invalids that I’ve grown to know and love, but upon my last few Skype sessions I have to admit that it sounds pretty fucking dirty.
“Dad, move the camera closer. I need an angle shot. Right there. Touch his belly. He loves it! Do it more! Can I watch you touch the other one? He loves it even more than the last one!” I just wanted to live vicariously through my father (who himself has created an entire Twitter account from the perspective of the dog), but untrained ears hear something much weirder. I mean, I’m not going to stop, but at least there’s always an answer to the age-old question: Who’s a good boy?
No animals were touched inappropriately in the making of this article. Bellies and heads and nothing more.