It all started last week when mum and dad decided to buy one of those swing sofa type things for the garden. Apparently they had some romantic idea of swinging together, drinks in hand, watching the sun go down (or something like that). Personally I think it was a bit of a stupid idea as I cannot imagine how they think they are not going to immediately soak it in bottle stuff given the way they fill their glasses.
Anyway, after I had sorted dad out with the assembly of said item I was then told in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed on it. Zoot alors! You could have knocked me down with with a bonio when, early this afternoon, I was actually invited to join mum on it.
OK - I was slow, I admit. I should have smelt a rat. Perhaps the fact that dad was stripped to his swimmers and was frantically filling buckets with water should have been a give-away. But no, after just a few minutes of this upholstered bliss, and with all the buckets now full, I was suddenly lassoed and hauled off to the front lawn. Then it clicked - it was time for the summer douche (French for shower) and I had been duped again.
This ritual humiliation always takes place on one of the first really hot days of summer so I cannot understand why I was not more prepared. And why is it necessary? Do I smell that bad? Am I crawling with fleas? No, none of that. They just want me to look smart for our summer visitors! I ask you. Aren't my charm, elegance, and downright good looks sufficient to win the hearts of any passing human? Anyway, it is now over for a while and unless I find something really objectionable to roll in I could be bath free for a few months.
Problem is that all this being washed and then having to groom yourself for hours afterwards is really tiring, especially in this heat (30 degrees today). To avoid exhaustion I feel I should now rest for a while.
No comments:
Post a Comment