Ugh, I hate facials; they hurt like Hellraiser, and I don’t have the guts to swear aloud when I want to But today’s three hours of torture (managed to find someone so dedicated to the lost cause that there’s no thought of finishing everything under 90 minutes, argh) was soothed by an encounter with a dancing corgi in the shop, so sweet-natured that it nuzzled the resident cat and let me give it a rub. Just what I needed, really — when the tears come surging, so do the misty memories, and they inevitably include my old mangy dog. (By the way, have you ever read Love That Dog by Sharon Creech? With all my heart, I think you should.)
The resident cat was quite amusing too — apparently it’s in heat, so now and then it starts caterwauling to indicate an urgent need to patrol the area for studs. Not allowed, unfortunately — it’s ill with some sort of liver problem, so pregnancy is supposedly a no-go. Not diminishing its instincts, though! While in the throes of pain, it struck me as quite funny that cats can unabashedly proclaim their desire to procreate, while humans have to go through a whole rigmarole of custom and courtesy. Ah, socio-cultural conditioning. Games I don’t feel inclined to play, or maybe can just never get the hang of.
I’ve reverted to the Mistylook template; it does everything I need, but you know, familiarity breeds contempt, or at least boredom. That photoblog template I was fooling with was nice, but this blog isn’t all about images. One of these days I gotta put together my own design. Which will be crap, nasty and brutish, so hope not for the day, dear friend.