How to Ruin My Teenage Life Read Free

“He’s showing Zeus who’s the alpha male,” I say matter-of-factly.
    Roxanne gives Mitch a disgusted look. Mitch laughs.
    Mutt hops off Zeus, then takes a huge, steaming dump. Seriously, before I had a dog I would never have thought I’d be okay picking up raunchy, hot steaming dog poop with a plastic bag being the only thing separating me and the excrement.
    â€œWhere’s Jess going?” Mitch asks.
    I quickly scan the dog park and catch sight of Jessica’s retreating back. She’s leaving. “Come on, Mutt!” I order, then run toward the gate. Mutt is preoccupied with sniffing a pug’s butt. Damn. I open the gate, say, “Mutt, treat!” and he comes faster than a horse at the Kentucky Derby.
    I have the warm poop bag in one hand and Mutt’s leash in the other. The problem is that, instead of stopping so I can put on his leash and dump the poop, Mutt flies right past me, through the open gate, and onto the crowded Chicago street.
    â€œMutt, get back here!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I swear, when I catch the beast, he’s toast.
    You’d think my dear dog would listen to me. But no. He’s bolting so fast I imagine him singing “Born Free” like I heard on one of those animal shows.
    I run about two city blocks which, I might add, are way bigger than any suburban blocks. And my boobs are flapping together, which is not a pretty sight no matter what your gender is. I’m panting and it feels like my lungs are running out of air and shriveling up. I still see a blur of white puffy fur and a wagging tail, but it’s getting farther and farther away.
    I give a little curse to the snow that melted and is now frozen ice on the sidewalks. I’m slipping and sliding in my boots, which I picked out for fashion and not traction, while trying to avoid the barricades in front of most buildings. If you live or work in Chicago, you know it’s a hazard just walking down the streets in winter when ice melts off the tops of the skyscrapers. Ice falls to the street and the people below are targets. Once I got tagged by a chunk of ice from a building. Luckily, I put my head down so I only had a huge lump and serious bruise on top of my head. If I was looking up … well, let’s just say I would have either died or my nose would have been broken. I’m careful to look straight ahead and ignore the sounds or warnings of falling ice.
    â€œMutt!” I scream, but in my state of decreased lung capacity it comes out as a squeak.
    I’m about to give up when I see Mutt halt. Thank the Lord. I slide up to the person who stopped him.
    A teenager, wearing a geeky button-down plaid shirt and corduroys, is kneeling down and holding Mutt’s collar. “Is he yours?” he asks while pushing his glasses high up on his nose as I come to a halt.
    I’m huffing and puffing, but I manage a yeah.
    Before I can catch my breath and formally thank the guy, he stands up and says, “He should be on a leash, you know. It’s the law.”
    â€œThanks for the tip,” I say between puffs, then reach out and clip Mutt’s leash on.
    â€œSeriously,” he says. “He could have been hit by a car.”
    â€œSeriously,” I say. “I know.”
    The guy steps toward me. “Do you realize how many dogs are hit by cars or end up in shelters because of careless owners?”
    Is this dude kidding me? The last thing I need is a lecture on dog safety. I wave the poop bag, which is still in my hand, at the guy. “Listen, I am not a careless owner. Careless owners do not carry poop bags. And, as you can see, my dog is safe and sound.”
    He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t get all angry with me. I’m just a concerned citizen.”
    â€œWhatever. Thanks for catching my dog,” I say, then walk toward home with the poop bag still in my hand.
    â€œArg!” Mutt barks as we walk.
    I