“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.
