You Can’t See Me.

Me: Beaumont, you know I can see you there.

Beaumont:  If you hadn’t put in a glass stairwell you wouldn’t.

Me:  Quit stalling. I have to brush you.

Beau:  Why?

Me:  Because you’ll get matted if I don’t.

Beau:  Then take me to my hairdressers. Cindy is much more gentle than you.

Me:  You were just there three weeks ago.

Beau:  So?

Me:  Do you know how much it costs to get you groomed?

Beau:  Do I look like I care?

Me:  Good point. No.

Beau:  Now that we have that straight, take me to Cindy.

Me:  Why don’t I just take you downstairs and brush you?

Beau:  You can’t see me. Remember. I’m hiding.

Me:  Remember. It’s a glass stairwell.

Beau:  Close your eyes. Pretend you can’t.

Me:  I’d rather you just come downstairs.

Beau:  Not happening.

Me:  You’re not the boss of me.

Beau:  Well that’s mature.

Me:  (Sigh) Beau. Please.

Beau:  Sorry. Can’t hear you. My eyes are closed.

Me:  Now who’s being immature.

Beau:  La. La. La. La. La.

Me:  Beau. Sooner or later I’m going to brush you.

Beau:  (Yawning)  Think I’ll take a nap. (He lies down. Opens one eye and stares at me.) And I expect you to phone Cindy and book me that appointment before I wake up.

Me:  (Putting his brush back in the basket)  Fine.

(Dang. I really thought I might win that one!)




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