Barbara Wawas Instagram

Barbara WaWas Instagram

Older Son has set up an instagram account for Barbara Wawas! It’s possible he did it so I would stop asking for pictures. No matter. Follow @realbarbarawalters and enjoy!

Older Son adopted a dog! See photo above. I am so excited I can’t stand myself. We moved a lot when I was a kid so we didn’t have a lot of your standard pets. My mom bought me a parakeet once but I was very afraid of it. We had fish but fun as they were to watch, petting and fetch were not an option. My mom was always feeding these crazy ginger stray cats that she named Morris, I think in total there were 5 of them over the years, but they were basically feral and liked only her. We finally got an indoor cat when I was in high school. His name was Stanley and if you petted him just right he would drool. And as an adult I had two cats, Muriel and Tony. More about them later. But a dog is a different pet all together.

Older Son’s dog is named Barbara WaWa. And the dog is a boy.

Please don’t ask. Older Son gave me a long winded explanation that I tuned out as I shopped for chew toys at Target. I don’t care that the dog is male and named Barbara.

I am too busy gearing up for my granddog’s first visit and no amount of carefully thought out explanation regarding gender norms is going to distract me from my shopping.

And then a few days ago I became convinced that Barbara wouldn’t like me. Why would any dog like me when Six is around? Dogs love Six. They sense a kindred spirit, a creature who can run for hours, will drink water from anywhere and is willing to roll around in mud or any other disgusting substance if it means the fun quotient can be upped by even one iota.

I don’t run, I hate mud, I smell my water before drinking it. My idea of fun is reading for 4 hours. Dogs don’t read.

I told Older Son my worries. His reply?

“Barbara likes everyone.”

Thanks.

And I am not just anyone! It’s like the time I complained that Older Son wasn’t checking in enough (he was 19) and he replied, “Check my insta.”

I pitched a pearl-clutching fit the likes of which drag queens would have applauded. Check your insta, my ass. I pay for that phone and the service that makes it work. You ever want to leave home again you will CALL me. It went on like that for awhile. No better way to punish a whippersnapper than making them talk on the phone.

Anyway, back to Barbara. Older Son is 23. He has a job with good health insurance (including dental and vision) and his own apartment. He pays for his own cell phone service. He even regularly gets the oil changed in his hilariously beat up Prius. It’s a rolling disaster waiting to happen.

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