Country Biped Goes to Town

I'm from a small town--thirty people, one intersection, one bar, twelve houses. Now I live in an artsy-fartsy suburb of Chicago, which in some ways, still feels like a small town, albeit one where you can get french fries after nine p.m.

I don't actually go into the city all that often, but last night was an exception. I attended Pamper Your Pet and Yourself downtown with Prada, and we had a blast.  Prada got her nails done, a massage, and a treat bag full of goodies.  She handled it like a pro--loving the attention to the point that she even once left the carpeted area to meet someone new.  She even held still for some photos!  (If I can track them down, I'll post them.)

I, on the other hand, am socially inept and country bumpkined my way through the evening.  I got my nails done; it was only the second time I'd had them done professionally.  I chose red polish.  It was a bad decision.  My hands are kind of pink, and the polish left my hands looking like a bad valentine.  All that's missing are some paper doilies.

Fixed!

I also had my very first massage.  I'd been nervous about it, because I have a real issue with strangers touching me, especially my back.  I have some crossed wires in my nervous system, so if you touch my shoulder, I might feel your touch in my lower back or behind my knee as well.  It's weird.  Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach really helped, though.  I think I only flinched once or twice.  (Note:  when I start drinking red wine, which I sort of hate, it means I'm desperate and probably about to make a fool of myself.)

A very nice woman waxed my eyebrows, and didn't even smirk at the fact that I'm half Neanderthal, half orangutan, all Bert-y.

I also met some very nice people you may be hearing from in later posts, as I sort of brow-beat (pun!) them into agreeing to let me interview them.  Yay!


(True:  When she was born, My Sister the Lawyer's hair looked just like Bert's.  When I was born, mine looked like Ernie's.  But I've never really cared for rubber ducks.)

(P.S.  Don't forget to send your entry for the dogs' Ugly Sweater Contest!  Email your photos to danathebiped@gmx.com .)

Hands down, Rusty would love to be your valentine.

Rusty would look swell in a sweater, but he's a pretty tough guy. The cold doesn't bother him, especially if it's cold on the way to a car ride!