My husband has a problem.
Not everyone knows about it and it's not something I like to talk about, but... the time has come for me to seek support.
Doug is addicted to Snoopy.
There. I said it.
As I type this, I am sitting on the couch with one small stuffed Snoopy and a couple of his siblings (Marbles and Belle, if you're curious). There are at least a few in every room, despite 10 years worth of efforts to stop the insanity. In the time that we have been married, I've only successfully convinced Doug to get rid of a few items. We still have dozens of stuffed animals, blankets, figurines, shirts, and various holiday decorations. But the Bane of my Existence is Handy.
Handy is a small, hand-sized, Snoopy that Doug has had for many years. Handy has his own vacation clothes, Halloween costume, and Christmas sweater. This dog accompanies Doug on trips, both business and pleasure. He has had his photo taken at Stonehenge. I haven't been to Stonehenge, but this stupid little dog has. He even made his way into our wedding photos. Don't get me started on that one.
Well, it's time for me to draw the line. On Saturday, Doug left the house to run errands. When he returned home, I could tell by the look on his face that something was up. And then I saw this...
|You can't tell from this photo, but Doug's wearing a Snoopy shirt.|
I tried to seek help from Doug's brother, Keith. Unfortunately, he wasn't even willing to discuss the issue. Keith says he's been trying to talk to Doug about his problem for years and there's nothing more he can do.
Doug's parents won't be much help because his mother, Irene, is even further down this rabbit hole than he is. For every one Snoopy item in our house, there are two in hers.
And so, friends, I turn to you for support.
What's a girl to do when her husband buys underpants for his stuffed dog?!?