Everyone Who Knows Who Punky Brewster Is Should Read This One First. Everyone Else Should Leave Now. I Mean It.

Buster B. Bumbles The Monkey-Doodle King, is the name of my mother's shitzu. I can't help wishing we had named him something more practical.

Here is why.

My new fear is That I will run into M. with his new girlfriend.

The horrible scenario of our meeting is as follows:

I am walking down Broadway on the Upper Westside. Luckily, because I am fully aware that this is M's neighborhood and because I am psycho, I am dressed in a cute Saturday afternoon outfit that took hours of careful planning, but looks as though I just picked it up off of my floor and threw it on. (It should be noted that I only go for the Saturday-Afternoon Casual Look out of necessity. It is not my best Look. If I could get away with it, I would just spend most of my Saturdays strutting up and down Broadway between about 86th St. and 79th in an evening gown, displaying my glamorous Saturday-Night Black-Tie Gala Look, which always steals the show. Or, at least would steal the show if I ever actually got invited to a Black-Tie Gala.)

ANYway, having picked out and put on my perfect Saturday-Afternoon-Casual-Look Outfit (the one that says, "Hey, look at me, I just got back from a seaside vacation where I spent hours journaling and running in the surf.") I am feeling great.

In fact, I am practically skipping down the street, because I am already aware that The Universe hates me. Therefore, The Universe would never ever ever let me see M when I'm looking hot. So, obviously I will not see him today. Nope. Never ever ever. Nope. Not today. Not tod--

And there they are. (Fucking Universe with its fucking irony.)

...And they're walking towards me, waving.

...And she's wearing his sweatshirt, which means that her outfit kicks the ass of my outfit because her outfit says, simply, "He's my boyfriend now, Skank."

...And my outfit is sad because its ass has just been kicked.

...And I am sad because I have just swallowed my gum.

Though I try to psych myself up for this now unavoidable encounter by rapidly making a mental list of everything I've accomplished since our break-up, I fail.

Then I try to think sexy thoughts.

But I fail at that too, because all I can think of is the time when I was five and my aunt took me to the zoo where we saw elephants, and I wanted to eat like they did, so I shoved peanuts up my nose and we had to go to the hospital. So. Not. Sexy.

Then I panic.

Now, for some reason, when I panic my brain goes into this strange mode where it churns up storylines and quotes from old sitcoms. Believe me, if I had the kind of brain that churned up useful, smart, witty-banter kinds of quotes from old sitcoms, I would be pleased. If, for example, my brain in a panic spoke like the cast of The West Wing I would love my brain. LOVE it. But my brain tends to run more towards, oh...He-Man cartoons.

So that explains why I suddenly can think of nothing but Punky Brewster, a sitcom about this little spunky orphan and her playful golden-retriever, Brandon. And there's this episode where Punky has a crush on this older guy....

Meanwhile, M has begun to speak to me:

M: Hey, Kate. I've been thinking about you. It's so great to see you. This is my girlfriend. We were just on our way to her photo shoot.

...and Punky really, really likes him. Likes him even more than she likes her dog, Brandon. And she gets all happy whenever this older boy comes around. Sure, he's eighteen, and she's, like, nine, but her love is pure. And she thinks they'll be together forever. Because she's so certain that he loves her too. And they pal around for the whole episode...

M's New Girlfriend: Oh my Gosh! You're Kathryn! Wow. It's amazing. M was totally right. You two do look like brother and sister.

...and then one day Punky's crush comes over to her apartment and he brings along his eighteen year old girlfriend because he wants to show off and make sure his girlfriend sees that kids just adore him. And PUNKY IS CRUSHED; she didn't know he had a girlfriend, and she can barely keep the tears from coming. And then her crush starts to rave about how cute Punky is, and it's so patronizing...

M: Yeah, I know. That's what I always thought when we were dating. She totally looks like she could be my sister. My cute, chubby little sister, you know. *puts his hand on New Girlfriend's ass* Doesn't that explain so much about why I was never attracted to you, Kate?

...and the girlfriend of Punky's crush tries to be nice to Punky and says that Punky's so cute she must have a boyfriend. And Punky just stands there with tears in her eyes...

New Girlfriend: You know, Kathryn. Can I call you Kate? I have a friend who I'd totally love to set you up with--Oh...I'm sorry. I guess I just assumed that you're single. You are single, aren't you, Kate?

...and, finally, Punky--who, even with her limitless Punky Power has been reduced to a whimpering love-sick fool by this nineteen-year-old and his tarty little girlfriend--decides to lie. Knowing that she has no -real- boyfriend to describe, and knowing that she never told her crush about her dog, she responds, "Yes. Yes, I do have a boyfriend. His name's um...Brandon. And he has reddish-blonde hair. And brown eyes. And he's great. Because. *sniff* He takes walks with me in the park. And. *sniff* He kisses me when I'm sad."

(God. It's SO pathetic. Nine-year-old girl lies to her crush, only a split second after he's broken her heart, by telling him about her imaginary boyfriend who, as it turns out, is really just her faithful, but slobbery dog? Un-fucking-believable. I have only three words for you: Punky. The. Musical. She'll make that bitch Annie look like the cracked-out orphan street-trash that she is.)

But, uh-oh! Wait a minute. My panic-stricken brain won't think this pathetic sitcom plot should be relegated to Ole' Broadway. NO. If I ever do actually run into M and his New Girlfriend on the street, my blitzed-out sitcom-loving brain will be primed and ready to try this scenario in real life. So, when M's hussy of a girlfriend asks me if I'm single, there is a good chance that I will reply with something like:

"No, no I have a boyfriend. His name's, um, Buster Bumbles. *sniff* And he has white hair. And big, black eyes. And *sniff* he sleeps in the bathtub when it thunders...."


Yeah. It's not gonna be pretty.