GIVEN:

Animals seem to hold the souls of their dog sitters, yielding to the inevitable equation: No dog = no soul.

An unconnected group of people who have been nudged into a herd by one another's pets...are striking chiefly in their unremarkableness. Not particularly good at playing with others, they are socialized by four-footed companions that serve as fairy godmothers to these contemporary Cinderellas, who may not clean up too well but still deserve a fair shake.

Simon of the 'crumpled face' seems deserving of sympathy until, late in the game, it is revealed that he detests the baby voices people use with their pets, and privately permits himself the uncharitable thought: 'These people with their dogs, Get a life.'

James Thurber and E. B. White undertook a similar project in 1929 with their arch faux self-help book, 'Is Sex Necessary? Or, Why You Feel the Way You Do,' in which they expounded on...sex, desire and feminism in the metropolis... The biggest difference is that while the 1929 heroine made parchment lampshades in her spare time, Jody knits. Both creative teams foresaw the same happy ending for this 'biologico-cultural lady,' once she reached maturity: she was 'in a fair way to step placidly into a good old-fashioned marriage when the right man came along.' Only, for Schine, you can tell, the big deal isn't for a woman to find the right man, or vice versa; it's for either, or both, to find the right dog.

SOLUTION:
Either a) get a dog or b) get used to not having a soul. Still unworried? Remember: you will end up striking people with your unremarkableness, your face will crumple and there will be no redemption for your "biologico-cultural" existence!

There are some "dog agnostics" out there who might choose to ignore the forgoing proof (presumably remaining unconvinced that there are dogs), and that's the terrible Catch-22, "for the uninitiated or unsusceptible, it's a dog thing: you wouldn't understand." They will have to wait for the inevitable cinematic translation, Must Love Dogs 2.

Alas, alack; Q.E.D. —Lux

The Year of the Dog [NYTBR]

GIVEN:
Splitting checks at restaurants is difficult—"palm dampening, heart-palpitating anxiety attack" difficult:

[I]t's that inevitable, uncomfortable moment when some self-appointed school-committee type" grabs the check, squints at it, performs a mysterious algorithm and loudly announces what everyone owes, which includes a portion of Birthday Person's meal, of course.

STATEMENTS:

1. Poverty is not funny:

"Order the biggest dinner you can," advised a struggling stand-up comic, whose cousin's 30th-birthday of 10..."It was one of those super-overpriced, nothing-on-the-plate places, and everyone was gorging — ordering two, three, four dishes. And lots of wine." In a vain attempt to be frugal, the comedian ordered but a starter of dumplings, washing them down with tap water. When the bill came, her abstemiousness was ignored; she wound up putting $50 dollars on a credit card.

"After age 30, it's tacky," the paralegal said — though surely some slack can be cut for Manhattanites whose apartments are too small to entertain in. But what's the excuse of that successful actress who recently gave a birthday dinner for herself in a private room at a pricey steakhouse in Beverly Hills and, at the end of boisterous evening, solicited $100 contributions from each invitee? (The drinks were on her, she announced magnanimously.) "In my mind, 'private room' should be synonymous with 'prepaid,'" said one bitter attendee.

3. Experts are baffled:

"In my experience, when you host a thing like this, you always end up 10 percent short," said — believe it — a math professor. "Is it because, out of 20 people, one or two will just forget to pay entirely? Or because everyone slightly undercalculates what they owe? Who Knows?"

And in the end, who cares? We need not abandon the idea of parties in restaurants altogether.

You Do the Math [T, not yet online]