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Okay, so, like, you want to know about me? I don’t blame you. I am a champagne super nova. A poodle extraordinaire.
Okay, so let’s start at the beginning. My great, great, great, great, great, great, great – how many “greats” was that? Oh, yeah, great Grandpoodle came over on the Mayflower. In first class. Not steerage like those other lesser creatures.
That’s right. I am a 35th generation, pure bread, American princess.
And, like, even if I live in Brooklyn, I can handle that. I’m Madison Avenue adjacent.
So, where was I? Right. Talking about my favorite subject. Me.
I am a simple poodle. I don’t need much. Just rub my belly with anything you can buy at Hermes or Gucci. Give me silk, darling. Silk and suede and anything jade.
So, sue me, I love being spoiled. Is that a crime? I should be spoiled because I am so special. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.
And smart. Did you know that poodles are the smartest dogs in the world and I’m the smartest poodle? You know, I went to finishing school and finished first in my class.
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Anyway, right? Ms. Brady, bless her soul, chose me out of all the poodles in the world and we lead a magnificent life on the go.
Let’s see, I’ve been to the Hamptons, Aspen, Key West and of course, Fifth Avenue.
What else? Right! My groomer comes to my house.
I’m lactose intolerant, but do enjoy soy milk with my soap operas. I love soap operas. Ms. Brady leaves the T.V. on when she goes to work. Who knew people could be so interesting?
Anyway, I also like my day of beauty. Getting my poof on. Being massaged. Dewormed. Sahmpooed.
And accessories? There isn’t a mail order collar that I haven’t tried on. Pink’s my color though. Preferably from Tiffany’s, but I’ll settle for Fortunoffs.
Anyway, like, what’s so wrong about feeling special? About rolling around in your satin sheets and being adored, excuse me, worshipped.
What were we talking about again?
Right. Me.
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