I KNOW. I should be more careful! But it's just so hard to concentrate when I'm busy making fun of those nit-wits on Jersey Shore.
I'm pretty sure that Belle read THIS POST about my fun afternoon at the hair salon because of our conversation below.
|Belle, the blog snooper.|
Amanda, I want to go with you to the hair salon.
To the hair salon? But Belle, you hate getting your hair done.
No, I don't. I, uh... I... like it.
Then why do you whimper when I drop you off at PetSmart? Besides, you always chew on those little bows until you get them out of your hair anyway.
No, I don't.
Yes, you do! If they're so uncomfortable, why do you wear them?
Well, you don't think that four-inch heels are very comfortable, but you wore them to that Christmas party anyway.
That's because at my height, I practically need stilts to talk to other adults!
Listen, Amanda. Are you going to take me to the hair salon or not? And I'm not talking about PetSmart! I'm talking about a real hair salon. LOOK AT THIS GRAY FUR. I'm not as young as you think I am, you know. I'm actually turning 42 this year. And if you think that human years fly by, just think about dog years. One winter, you're pre-menstrual, and by the next spring, you're menopausal. It makes you a real bitch. (he, he. Get it?)
Belle, does this have anything to do with my hair salon serving booze? DID YOU READ MY BLOG?
Okay, I did. SO SUE ME. Look. I deserve to have some fun, too. I never get out of this house! Every day it's the same old thing: sleep, pee, sleep, poop, sleep, eat, sleep. I need to get away from it all!
Alright, fine. The next time I go to the hair salon, I'll drop you off at PetSmart first. I'll be sure to tell them that you want extra bows.
Fine. But you better wear your four-inch heels so you can reach the counter.
|Check out all her gray! Pretty soon, we will both be able to rock the Doc Brown look.|
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