Eleven fifty five in the morning onwards, I was sprawled out on the bed in my Sunday-worst watching The Simpsons Movie on TV. But except for Bart writing on the blackboard at the beginning, ‘I Will Not Illegally Download This Movie’, I wasn’t finding it all that funny. So an hour into the Springfield madness, when my father’s friend called to invite him to an impromptu lunch and asked to give the phone to me, I was happy to accept. (“Hey beautiful, why don’t you join us; short notice but your father tells me you’re being quite the vegetable...”)
And so, off we went. Their house is nearby, so we were there in five minutes. Now part reason I like tagging along to my parents’ friends places is because a lot of them have lovely homes. And while I like almost all their company, mostly I feel obliged to check out a well done up bathroom or a little innovation in the garden. And I am convinced that doing this is a good habit, because it will give me ideas to design my own home in the future, as against being inspired by magazines that cost more than a single kitchen tile. And sure enough, it was a lovely home. Although, with plants at the entrance, effective air conditioning, cheery upholstery prints and chilled beer on offer, there’s little of which you can disapprove. And then, all of a sudden, my good-housekeeping reverie was busted by THE DOG. And not just any dog, mind you. Not a yappity pom you want to kick and send flying across the room when the owner has his back turned. Droopy was a fat, short-legged, senior-Basset Hound with the aura of a monk.
Now, I like dogs. I have had dogs. And I have loved the dogs I have had. But none of the dogs I have had, loved, stroked, cuddled or taken for a walk have had these, these eyes like quicksand! If I were truly a bitch, this one would be my soul mate. Look at him-
Aimless stride, check
Being a good host, check
Gratitude for ears being fondled, check
Eyes that weaken resolve, call out to your gut and cause you to murmur in low tones of gibberish...
...*sigh* double check!