Truth: French bulldog ownership increases the likelihood of eventual intercourse for the average American male. Smoothes the road, so to speak.
You pass an
average American male/French bulldog owner who is being accosted by two much
younger, college-aged products of healthy Midwestern upbringings and Urban
Outfitters’ tank top section and acknowledge that he is breathing proof of this
truth. He is a late-20s finance bro in athletic shorts featuring the logo of a
small, northern college and loafers/nautical shoes because it is his day off
and he wants you to know he is ready for his day off. He is ready to traverse a
variety of terrains because in his day exists the possibility for adventure.
And it is
not your day off. It will never be your day off. Sheeeeit.
He is aw-shucksing
and saying to the slightly-less-attractive-but-still-desirable girl, “I was
looking into getting a rescue but come on loo-ook at this little guy,” while not
casually staring at her more attractive counterpart (who is bent over petting
the slobbering item of interest) in a way that suggests he never considered a
rescue dog and that most or all of his canine research was aimed at orchestrating
this exact experience.
He has
maximized his investment.
He knows the
over/under.
Through his
iPhone research he knows that the present-day Frenchie stud, due to years of
inbreeding, cannot reproduce naturally, his narrow hips unable to properly
mount the bitch, who in turn (because of those same hips) is virtually incapable
of natural birthing and almost always requires a caesarian section to extract
her litter.
It’s possible he sees the irony in procuring sex with the help of what is in essence the living, shitting product of a centuries-long laboratory experiment, sexless in all but its ill-aligned anatomy. A sterile accessory. It’s possible he knows that his dog exudes this sterility, this pheromone of safety and hints of platonic beginnings, and that it is his greatest weapon. He’s a standup individual! He gets tested regularly!
The finance bro’s dog sniffs the oversized bag the bent-over
girl has slung over her shoulder and starts to lift his leg. Ready to mark. She
squeals cutely and stands up.
Her friend laughs.
His grin spreads like melanoma.
