“We recently had to fire the dog nanny.”
Those were the words that pulled me from my self-imposed retirement. From here. From you. It all got a bit complicated, as you can probably understand. I was writing about things that—while quite outlandish—were in fact true stories about the people I love. A few individuals knew my true identity. I feared a final reveal.
Plus I was tired. There are all these Minis—got 3 now!--and Mr. Fancy to take care of. Not to mention running the HR department of my own home. Plus work. Then trying to log on everyday and catch up with everyone else’s blogs and find time to write my own. You get the idea. So apologies for just taking off like that. I hope you can forgive me. But I just gotta come back. There is too much material out here for me to work with.
So back to the sad tale of the dog nanny. We were invited to a dinner at a Fancy Restaurant with a bunch of stars. The Michelin kind. In France. So Mr. Fancy and I parked the Minis with their people and popped over to grab us some supper. The organization that invited us to said dinner caters directly to Fancy People. We thought it would be fun and maybe we would meet some nice folks just like us.
Holy Sweet Jesus.
I was sandwiched between H (Mr. Fancy, you may remember. Also known as Husband) and an elderly Englishman. Next to him sat his American-trans-European wife who looked exactly like every other wealthy woman her age who has had “alterations” if you know what I’m saying. Long blond hair and eyebrows that were just a little too lifted for the skin on her bejeweled hands. Next to her was a company representative. Then a couple we were introduced to during the champagne reception. They are a sporty couple, competing together in horse and carriage races. She drives and he counter-balances the carriage. Um. Okay. Then next to them was a octogenarian in permanently tinted glasses and highly attended to hair. And her husband, who just kept staring at people and occasionally lifting his glass in a toast. Then another company representative and back to Mr. Fancy.
They were not a lot like us.
Anyhoo, turns out the very nice gentleman (you can so totally be very nice and also completely fucking out of touch) told me that their dog nanny was an alcoholic. Unfortunately, she got so drunk that Coco and Chanel (two of the pups) attacked and ate Versace (another poor mutt). To top it all off, the dog nanny was not only negligent in her doggy duties, but she got so drunk with the chef on Easter Eve that he could not even cook Easter lunch. So they both had to be fired.
Gosh, what a mess.
Anyway, that is the story that brings me back to you, dear readers. And I’ll leave you with one final thought: that’s just one of the many reasons why the Fancy Family doesn’t have any pets.