Fancy girl.

I have a dog named Arlo. She has a raincoat. Arlo is an 18 lb Manchester Terrier. She has long spindly legs and enormous pivoting, telescoping ears that clap behind her head when she yawns. She is not, in fact, a vicious miniature pinscher thankyouverymuchconcernedBrooklynparents.

But she has a raincoat. It's navy with yellow piping and if it didn't mean that we'd match, I'd wish that I had one like it. I swore that I would never be one of those people that dressed their pets in cutesy little outfits, but she won't go out in the rain without it. My dog, fierce appearance and butch name aside, is kind-of a wuss. And I have become that lady, walking past the hipsters smoking outside the bar at 8:30 on a Sunday, with a dog in a jacket.

The puppy-shaped wrench in the works.

Before you say it, yes, clearly I'm a little impulsive. In the past six months I've gotten married, purchased my first home and moved, you would think that I'd slow down a bit, relax and enjoy some quiet time in my new neighborhood in this time of newlywed bliss, right? But you would be wrong. Apparently I cannot help myself and I needed to make things just a little more complicated, though, with this face, could you have resisted?