The Sad Puppy Complex

As though my sister life wasn't difficult enough, my parents, as of late, have decided to set her up with a boyfriend. This should be all well and good, and in most circles demonstrates a firm bond between parents and daughter. However, while the gesture is sweet, the real problem with it is my parents infatuation, bordering on religion, with the Sad Puppy Complex.

The Sad Puppy Complex would be an easy enough psychological development to blame on my parents affinity for dogs-- and in many ways it would be a correct assumption. The dogs that have often graced the family household have been the puppies that hide in the corner, or the ones that look particularly sad, pathetic and/or neurotic.

Feona, the current occupant of this position, has all of these emotions down in spades. In fact she is so good she has successfully guilted her way into my parents heartsfar more readily than either my sister or I have enjoyed over the past several years. News on whether my parents have amended the family will to now include Feona has been spotty at best, but a rare Kersto-Hanslican truce may be in development after thirteen years of animosity.

But this is not where the Complex stops. Dad shows his dependancy with a need to swap cars every few years. This is not based on the fact that he wants a new one, rather it is a matter of necessity for him to find one that still runs. His latest vehicle of choice is a Nash Rambler that has no heat, no shocks and an engine that will start only when it's daily breakfast of oil is dangled over its' head. Mom too is not immune. On a recent trip to the grocery store she informed me that she needed cheese. After much hemming and hawing she eventually landed on the most beat up block, telling me that she felt sorry for it.

And so it came as no surprise when my parents brought my sister home a boyfriend. I still don't know his real name, but his level of nicknames has evolved thusly: Chuckles begat NAAd (Non Amusing Anecdotes) begat Ironhead begat Puddin' Head begat Butters. Butters, I'm all but certain, is a nice guy who means well it's just he has little if no ability to socially interact with the outside world.

Case Study #1

Tact

I have often espoused the merits of having any individual show up with booze to be drunk by all [sic me]; this most primative of e-thoughts is what makes this all the more painful. On the night of December 31st, Butters shows up at my sisters house with a case of beer and several bottles of whiskey. Not really having known this young man I willingly accepted the gift, but did so with mixed emotions: what was his motivation in trying to get into my good graces, did this person want to involve me in a heady conversation. Only later did his reasons become apparent; Butters was trying to get me drunk so that I would pass out and he could pork my sister. He, however, had stepped into the wrong dojo...

Case Study #2

He is not funny... really not funny...

This one is more egregious. I still don't know which hell it was that my parents picked Butters up from; my good friend Ohn, a scholar of Chinese Hells, informed me it was probably the Hell of Upside Down Brains. Butters demonstrates this by not being able to come up with jokes. In a sad twist of mental engineering irony, Butters is capable of recognizing points in a conversation when a witty aside could be included however he lacks the mental resolve to say something funny. He still attempts to chuck something up there however it only acts as a conversation killer-- mysterious and silent is not something Butters understands.

Did Butters pork my sister... yes. Did I respond to this in a mature manner by banging pots and pans together at 4 in the morning... yes. Did I make sure that all members were up at 7 in the morning to make me breakfast... yes.

In America, dear Coitusers, we are trained to believe in the little guy, that we actively want him/her to win; the American Dream is our destiny and one day we'll all have happiness and success, and perhaps within all of that is where the Sad Puppy Complex thrives truest. Is it wrong; who is to say. Is it right; most likely not. Still, if it helps you get laid, even at the expense of it being my sister, I think you still have to salute it.