Snow

I never had a problem with Doug. In fact, I quite liked his gruff and aloof disposition both in and away from the lab. One of the best veterinarians in his field, he had a “don’t give a fuck” attitude to maintaining his beard as well as maintaining relations with both colleagues and laboratory staff. His tasteless t-shirt gags at corporate Christmas parties never failed to amuse, and I regret that I was no longer working for the company when he decided to wear flesh-coloured bike-pants and successfully offended the Medical Liaison officer with his shimmying.

The last time I saw him was at his beloved wife’s funeral. Lynne was his One, and when you saw them together, it all made sense. They had a unique passion for animal welfare, conservation, and their story is one that I would consider a fairytale. He came from England to America’s deep south, where the accents were as thick as mud, as were the antideluvian ideals of a society that couldn’t keep up with the rest of the world. He was there for only a short while, requested specifically to do equine check-ups on an old man’s stud. That old man’s daughter was Lynne, and she was taken by Doug. Now, Doug being Doug, he had no idea and went back to England to do his thing.

A couple of months later, he answered the door to find Lynne, who had come to England for him. She eventually proposed after many threats to and as soon as he accepted, she threatened to leave him if he ever shaved his beard. He never did, and cried inconsolably throughout his 15-minute eulogy. They had devoted their lives to each other and traveled the world enjoying the fruits of their labour together.

My time with her was brief, but I had dined with them often. My connection was my ex-mother-in-law who I consider my own, and my ex-sister-in-law who has since become a veterinarian in her own right with unwavering support from both Doug and Lynne. I nearly always forgot that Lynne was nearly-completely deaf in one ear and nearly always sat on that side of her so we’d end up laughing and yelling at each other. I loved the incredibly racist all-(white)American memorabilia and old advertisements she had littered around the house; while she herself didn’t believe in it, that was her heritage and she was mighty proud of where she came from. I have a bit of an obsession with golliwogs and love all things inflammatory to current social graces, so it was almost inevitable that we’d get on like a house on fire.

I remember the first time I had visited their home. A massive painting of a regal-looking Rottweiler graced the main wall of their home, and Lynne proudly told me its story. I was looking at Doug’s very first loyal companion, aptly named Winnie Mandela.

“She was a black bitch who didn’t take any shit from anyone!”

I remember Lynne’s raucous laugh and my discomfort at not really knowing how to react, especially as I was greeted shortly afterwards by the painter’s muse, hobbling but still quite energetic for an old dog. Unfortunately, Winnie died of cancer after a long and brutal struggle that had seen her spend the last few years of her life an amputee.

I had never seen Doug so upset, and it broke my heart. My current employer saw absolutely no problem in giving me the day off to attend Lynne’s funeral, and I am so thankful. His beautiful angel, the light of his life, his one and only, she succumbed to Multiple Sclerosis after an 11-year battle and it was no surprise that the church was packed to the rafters. During those 11 years, he wasn’t able to hug her because the pain in her body was excruciating. After falling down the stairs one night, he carried her upstairs to their bedroom to rest and recover. She never woke up, passing peacefully in her sleep from a massive brain haemorrhage.

I found myself feeling not only incredibly sad, but also incredibly angry at some of the people who attended Lynne’s funeral. Despite the Who’s Who of medical and veterinary science attending, there were a few there who have taken great pleasure in making fun of him behind his back. Many had turned down his many personal invitations to have lunch or dinner at his home with Lynne for no reason but to enjoy each other’s company. He was nearly always aloof, abrupt and awkward, sure – but when he was with Lynne, that gave way to a caring husband and host who did everything he could to make sure that everybody was entertained, well-fed, and comfortable.

When my ex-mother-in-law dropped The Kid off on Saturday afternoon, she gave me a bag full of cigarettes. Being the only smoker he knew other than Lynne, he thought that I should have them so they didn’t go to waste, that Lynne looked forward to me coming over because she had someone to smoke with. I felt a bit morbid accepting them, but what do you do?

We should all be so lucky to find a happiness like theirs.

No joie here.

My boyfriend ceremoniously dumped me at lunchtime today. He says he can't be there for me emotionally, as he's going through his own thing. He says he's far too independent and he believes it's unfair to make us both unhappy.

Great. I dated myself.

The last time I was dumped was in Grade 8, by Manuel Garcia. I remember the knot in my stomach as I walked up to him on the train and pretty much threw a note at him asking him to go out with me. He read it aloud with his mates and said no. I was shattered.

These things happen, and I'll get over it. Maybe it's a bit of karmic justice that has been long overdue, but it still hurts.

Well, sheeit.

Can I just ask what it is about public corporate bathrooms that compels the anonymous few to either:

1) Piss all over the floor;

2) Shit all around and up the inside of the toilet bowl;

3) Clog the toilet with toilet paper using all the toilet paper in that cubicle;

4) Soak the entire sink area with soapy water so that anyone who leans forward gets their clothes wet in a way that makes them look like they've urinated all over themselves, or;

5) Use ALL the handtowels and throw them all over the floor.

Perhaps they're assuming that our autistic children patients are responsible, but a lot of these facilities are inaccessible without adult supervision. Hmm.