Friday, November 26, 2010


God, it’s so embarrassing. Mama means well, but OMG, she has no taste. Totters around in gold stiletto sandals and leopard skin tights. Like totally yesterday! Well okay, whatever turns her on. But does she have to do me up like a freaking prom queen?

Every Friday she drags me to the beauty shop. Wash, cut, comb, curl, style, powder. Pink ribbons behind my ears. Toenails to match. Puleeze! It’s weird. Oh, and did I mention the diamonds around my neck? Fake, of course.

And if it’s not the beauty shop, it’s the doctor’s office. Duh! I’m like a teenager, for Pete’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with me. But no, I get my teeth examined, lights shone in my eyes and ears, and my stomach like pressed and poked. And no way am I even going to mention where they stick the thermometer.

The worst part is she’s totally a control freak. Like I don’t have a mind of my own, you know? She never lets me out of her sight. OMG, doesn’t she know everyone needs a little privacy? Duh!

Sometimes I just feel like running away. Taking off while she’s yakking on the phone or squeezing her zits. I want to live in the moment. Free. But then I think where would I sleep? What would I eat? Of course nothing could be more gross than the stuff she feeds me. We’re always on a diet. No red meat. No fat. No sugar. No taste. Just the same old quote unquote nutritious food.

So anyways, this week we come out of the beauty shop, me looking like some ridiculous brainless bimbo. It’s a long walk to the parking garage and halfway there a scruffy old man is sitting and, next to him, this like drop dead gorgeous hunk.

He’s leaning on his elbows. So awesome. And you can tell he’s like totally in control of his own destiny, you know? Think gypsy. Like he only hangs with the old man because he wants to.

And handsome? OMG, totally to die for. Long wavy brown hair, curls falling across one eye. And I swear you could drown in those deep dark eyes. Hey, I can tell he could totally snag any girl he wanted.

When we reach them, the old man whistles at mama. She stiffens up and yanks me away, stiletto heels clicking faster. I try not to look back. Just walk on by like I didn’t even notice him. But still I get a deep whiff of his mushroomy smell.

But then I realize, OMG. He probably smelled the stupid talcum powder on me. My face starts to burn. I’m dying here, knowing he’s checking out the pink bows and toenails.

My knees are buckling under me. I can’t breathe, I’m like quivering. Geez, it’s totally all I can do not to whimper. OMG, face it, I’m like in love.

That night I curl up on the bed next to mama and dream of his awesome eyes, his sexy smell. I’m kind of scared she can read my mind, you know? She’d totally freak out. Say he has no breeding. Not good enough for her little girl. I’m like all she has, you know? Sad really. Guess that’s why I try to be a good girl.

But in my head, I imagine being curled up next to him under the stars, feeling his warm body pressed against mine, his hot breath on my skin. Wild and free. I blink back tears. I’m totally aching for him. OMG, I wish I could have his babies. Hey, don’t laugh. It’s possible. After all, he’s the only dog I know who still has his balls.