I Am the Alpha Dog

While my sister and I have a lot of similar mannerisms, we're very different people. Our preferences were obvious quite early--when my mom used to breastfeed me, I would cry to go back to my own crib when I was full. Stacey? Just the opposite. She would cry when our mom would try to send her to her own bed. Stacey is the needy child. She is clingy. She wants a lot of attention. And she literally likes to be on top of people. She'll even still sleep with my mom if she happens to be visiting without her husband when my dad's out of town (Stacey's 28 and married).

Anyway, a couple days before the wedding, Stacey, her puppy, my mom, and I were running some errands when we stopped by my mom's friend's house. A few ladies were over putting together the gift bags for the out-of-town guests. My mom and I gushed over their cuteness and started helping, while Stacey promptly laid down on the couch.

Every ten minutes or so, Stacey would whine about how tired she was and how she wanted to leave and take a nap. And every few minutes, her dog would start barking and running around and generally make a nuisance. Finally, my mom had enough.

"Pull it together," she barked at Stacey. "This isn't your weekend. You're not the alpha dog here."

"Yeah," I cried, delighted. "Help out, Beta; I'm the Alpha Dog this weekend."

"Fine," she sighed, resigned. "But I go back to being Alpha on Monday."

"Tuesday," my mom corrected, since Matt and I weren't leaving for our honeymoon until Tuesday.

"Monday," Stacey said firmly. (Readers, if were were a novel, this would be called FORESHADOWING).

So, for the rest of the weekend, whenever Stacey got whiny, I just reminded her that I was the Alpha Dog.