Eek. Eek. Eek.
This is an emergency. I told Norb nothing too short. Something
classic. Something Jackie-O. Something that works well with my pearls.
You know the ones I mean, the gray string with a diamond clasp. The ones I
double loop. I never did go for those chokers. No woofing way, which—if you m
ust know—is dog-speak for exactly what you think it means.
I don't think sooooo. My boy must have Shih Tzu in his ears. Oh, I
could just scream. The salon shaved my body bald. There I was, my head
in curls, my tail too, and the next thing I know…. Wham! There's pink skin
peeking out my fur everywhere. It's enough to make a girl put on clothes.
Even me.
Can you be a Peach and dial 9-1-1 hair extensions for me? Or better
yet, get Rodney Cutler on the line, like now. This is an emergency. I need a
professional. You've got to let me know if they make Redken for Dogs.
The hair salon barely touched my tail. Same thing with my face. Not
that I blame them, of course. It's hard to improve on a snout and, yes, tail
this good. But duh. What were they thinking? I'm all head, Peach girl, one
fat, shaggy-dog face and no shoulders.
Even Jay Leno noticed. His people contacted my publicist. I thought
we were going to do lunch. "Not so fast," the handlers say. "We have
something special in mind."
Jay's featuring me on that horrid spot during his monologue: Who's
head is bigger? You know the one I mean—he plans to take my picture and
superimpose my head on his. OMG, if my head is bigger than his, I'll never
show my face in public again.
.JPG)