Celebrating the Little Victories

Llamaentity and I are not the most socially adept people. While we have expressed the desire to get to know our next-door neighbors (who not-so-coincidentally make delicious-smelling food), we actually don't know the names of any of the neighbors in our apartment complex. Not one. Llamaentity once asked a guy his name and then promptly forgot it - so now we just refer to him as "the dad of the two girls". There's also "the woman with the pug", "the boy who plays on his DS" (aka "the boy who is scared of dogs"), and "the mother of the boy who plays on his DS", just to (not) name a few.

I was heading into our building with Mushroom this morning as one of our neighbors, "the woman who might be the daughter of the elderly couple whose Yorkie recently passed away", was exiting. We said hi, and she held the door open for me as Mushroom tried to jump on her. Fortunately, I avoided having to mumble an apology about Mushroom's behavior because the woman was facing the other direction and holding the door open for the person behind me, a man I had never seen before who shall henceforth be referred to as "the man holding a stack of pillows".

As we waited for the elevator, "the man holding a stack of pillows" asked how old Mushroom was. I said that she was a little over a year old, and this was as big as she would get. He then remarked, "She's so quiet!" I agreed and said it made her an excellent apartment dog. During the whole conversation and the elevator ride afterward, Mushroom was in a sit-stay and wagging her tail. I was quite proud of her for not embarrassing me.

Mushroom, on the other hand, finds me terribly embarrassing