I'm sure it's just me

Husband and I were both bitten by a dog this weekend. Nothing major at all; just a bratty chihuahua mix who was scared. I wouldn't say that I was upset afterwards, but I was shaken. Perhaps it was shock or something, but I was trembling for a bit. Now, here's the weird thing: even right away, I was almost glad for it. I don't know if anyone would understand this, but I look at it as almost a milestone of some sort. Let me see if I can explain.

I haven't been bitten by a dog since I was little, and not that I'm afraid of dogs at all, but no one really wants to be bitten, so there is always a little fear kicking around in the back of the mind: What if I get bitten? I'm chewed on pretty regularly by the various dogs in my life, but this was an angry bite and there is a bit of a hole in my hand right now. So here's the glad part: I was bitten, and it was no big deal. Like I crossed a line or something. Yes, it was just a little dog, not some big mutt trying to take a chunk out of my leg or anything, but I feel a little bit like, "Oh. Got that taken care of. I lived. Good to know. Moving on."

So that you can mentally prepare for an upcoming post: I am currently pondering feminism- its current definitions and my place in them. It's probably going to be a big one, and soon. Just so you know.