In Loving Memory of Faux Coco
You know how it goes —
You slave for hours under the Miami sun, stapling hundreds of rectangular cotton pads and a cardboard cutout of your parent’s dog’s face to the sides of your LAST tissue box because you don’t want your dog to be alone on Valentine’s Day.
The only reason this is at issue to begin with is that you and Glenn have plans to spend three hours on Valentine’s Evening at Cirque du Solei and two hours wishing a PLAGUE on the houses of EVERYONE else in the Sun Life Stadium parking lot. Your dog cannot join you for this night of romance and passive aggressive extremism because he has plans to claw at the apartment door and weep hysterical doggie sobs while you wait guiltily in the hallway for the world’s slowest elevator to arrive.
BUT WAIT —
You anticipated the entire last paragraph and had the brilliant foresight to distract your dog with a paper mache bitch and to arrive at Cirque du Solei via TARDIS.
Your dog will, you predict, be very grateful. Glenn will be, yet again, profoundly impressed by your crafting skills. He’ll be like, ‘Hey, maybe we should get a second dog, after all. Clearly, I overestimated the additional time, energy and income necessary to maintain a two-dog household, and, anyway, who could put a price on Jimi’s happiness and psycho-social fulfillment? Not I!
There will be much rejoicing.
BUT THEN —
When you launch into your flawless plan, Clark at Alamo Rental snittishly informs you that they do not have any TARDISes (TARDeese?) available for the evening, or ever, for that matter, which would have been GREAT to know BEFORE you spent the last 37 minutes explaining, in painstaking detail, what the fuck a TARDIS is (seriously, Clark?) and how one would recognize a TARDIS were one to be searching for one in a rental car parking lot (I don’t know, Clark! I can’t tell a 1960’s British police-box-time-machine from a KIA Rio, either!)
So what if Clark is a complete dingbat with less multicultural competency than your smaller boob? At least you can still make your beloved pet so very, very happy.
OR CAN YOU?
(Nope. It turns out you suck at that, too.)