I can't even...

I was today years old when I discovered that the love of my life, the one I had chosen to marry, to look upon in my final days, disliked Corgis.

The words hit me like a freight train. My world shattered. Everything I had done up until this moment was in question.

I was no longer in control.

How could someone look at those smooshy little creatures and dislike them? What kind of evil must one possess to frown at that long face, squishy body, and lumpy butt.

It does nothing for you, you say? I say, what have you done for it?

Did something happen to you as a child? Did the Corgi love you too much? Could your cold, hard hands not take the warmth of its fuzzy face?

Was it a roommate that had one and let it run wild? Did it just want to spend time with you because it could sense that your body was a soulless place?

What could bring someone to this? This darkness. You can't even look at one? You don't deserve to look at one!

I digress. This thought has taken me.

It has awakened a troll living in the deepest and darkest caverns of my soul. Does this dungeon master have an affinity for Corgis as well? Does a troll appreciate a Corgi more than my own wife?

What does one do with this?

Can one file for divorce due to distaste of Corgis? Google says no. ChatGPT said no as well.

I thought the future meant progress. Yet, I am trapped in this cage of tradition.

In our town, Fort Collins, there is an annual Corgi parade. They call it the "Tour de Corgi." They dress up the little things - Queen Elizabeth in the royal carriage, the Pope visiting the town square, the go-to hot dog bun...an audience favorite.

I've gone every year. It's my Halloween. I don't celebrate actual Halloween because, you know...the devil. Speaking of which, I nearly shouted "get behind me, satan" the moment the love of my life shared this news. Instead, I stared at my coffee, wishing it was that one batch they forgot to remove the fatal toxins from. That's how they make coffee, correct?

Back to Corgis.

Corgis are a beacon of hope. A light shining through the darkness. My wife always found a reason not to go to the parade, and I figured her aunt's funeral was a valid excuse at the time...but now I wonder.

When I see our neighbor walk their squooshy thing past our front lawn, I point and laugh. In adoration, of course. I'm not my wife. She would glance and smile. But it was only for my benefit.

Had I become the dog?

Oh goodness, I had. I had become the dog! Wagging my tail, barking, pointing, and yelling at the window. I had been made a fool thinking my wife shared in this existential joy. This profound sense of belonging in a world where Corgis also happened to exist.

The first Corgi I met was Chai. Then buttercup. Biscuit. Gus. And then there was Hamilton.

Ah, Hamilton. You glorious, prize-winning stallion of a Corgi. You need no description. Words wouldn't be worthy. Yet, my wife looks at you and says, "meh."

Utter. Disgust.

I can't go on. I am trapped in a loveless marriage now. I did make a vow - "in sickness and in health." It's safe to say that dislike of Corgis qualifies as a sickness. This helps. I see hope again. Yes, it is always darkest before the dawn.

I will talk with her. I will counsel her. If I just show her my saved Corgi videos, the documentation I've gathered throughout this long and laborious road we call life - then she will understand. Then she will see the beauty of the Corgi.

Thump!

The door shuts. She's finally home.

"Honey, do you want to look at some of my saved Corgi reels?"

"No," she said.

I was gone the next day.