Richard's decided to go into the dog grooming business. Poor, poor, Ginger.
Yesterday when I came home, Richard presented me with a plastic grocery bag full of Ginger's dark brown hair.
"I gave her a haircut. I saved us fifty dollars. Look at all this hair I cut off her." He seemed so proud of his accomplishment.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"Uhm. In hiding." Richard responded.
I sat down on the sofa and out of nowhere came my precious little Ginger to sit on my lap. As she settled in, I inspected her. White skin peeked through on her chest where she'd been shaved. Long stripes of hair stood out on her back alongside patches of much shorter and varied lengths. She seemed oblivious to her bad haircut, thank goodness. If my own hairdresser had done this to my cherished locks, she'd be toast.
"She looks like a sculptured carpet. What the heck did you do to her?" I rubbed my fingers along an especially pronounced ridge of hair.
"She doesn't look that bad. Does she?" Richard pouted.
"Yes. She certainly does. People are going to stare when I take her out for a walk." Ginger perked up when she heard the word 'walk'.
"Tell them I'm starting my own dog grooming business. Try to sell them some gift certificates."
I rolled my eyes, put on her leash and said a prayer we wouldn't see anyone we knew. They might want to put her down as carpet so they can wiggle their toes through her soft sculptured pile.
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