Do you have bedbugs?
I have burning need to know.
You see, my favorite daughter is scheduled to take up residence in your establishment tomorrow and I'd like to know in advance if you have bedbugs. (Not you - personally, Mr. President of PetSmart - I don't really care if you scratch your insides out, I just need to know if your special hypoallergenic lambskin doggie beds are infested with bedbugs.)
I'm feeling a wee-bit perturbed that I couldn't afford to put my favorite daughter up in the swanky Animal Inn while the humans in the Spin Family travel to Cleveland for my nephew's wedding. . . but this wedding is already costing us an arm and a leg and we didn't have an extra paw left over to pay for doggie swank - especially because those paws developed allergies, causing an unplanned trip to the vet yesterday.
And because I already had to shell out $200 on paw allergies, I need to know if I'm going to have to face the horror of doggie bedbugs when I return.
Do you have daughters Mr. (or perhaps, Mrs.) President of PetSmart, Inc.? 'Cause if you do you'll know how expensive it is for an entire family to attend an out-of-town wedding . . . especially when two of them have to be flown in from different parts of the country. And did I mention those little airport shuttle fees? Can you keep a secret Mr. President of PetSmart? ('Cause I know a Mrs. President would be blabbing already . . . ) Don't let The Husband-formerly-known-as-Drip-Dry know, but Ponzi's transportation to-and-from the airport is costing us more than her airfare.
Sacre Maroon!
Do you have a husband Mr. ( I guess with this question I'm hoping you really are a Mrs.) President of PetSmart Inc.? 'Cause if you do, you would also understand the financial pressures I am under here. For instance, I would have loved to have put Kasey up in one of your fabulous hotel suites with 24-hour pet-centric t.v., or enroll her in your doggie day care, or ordered her the Bizzy Bundle, or some sort of individualized turn-down service . . . and God knows I would love to call her each day on the PetSmart Bone Booth just to hear her reassuring little woof . . .
But no. I had to settle for an Atrium room with no amenities.
That's right. . . no snack kongs. . .no treat times. . . no personal training camp. . . if you can imagine, the poor little dog can't even be groomed for success! And can you keep another secret, Mr. President? Don't let on to Drip Dry, but I'm going to splurge and bring the paw medication with me even though it costs an additional $3 a day to administer. But if he discovers that I have signed up for any of those expensive add-on fru-fru services, Mr. President, I fear that The-Husband-Formerly-Known-as-Drip-Dry would quickly become the Former-Husbandly-Known-as-Drip-Dry! (And hey . . . the way things are going around here the night before our big departure, he may destined for that moniker yet, Mr. President . . . I think he may just become that yet. . .)
So please take care of my precious daughter this weekend, Mr. President, 'cause sometimes I'm convinced that she's the only one who really loves me around here. You can call me anytime tomorrow from the bone booth. Thanks to Drip Dry's newly enforced budgetary restrictions, I'll be staying in a flea-bag hotel somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania.
Oh . . and seeing that I might be of the single persuasion as early as next week, Mr. President, I would like to ask you another question: Do you have wife? 'Cause if you don't I'm thinking that you might have enough money to let me - and my favorite daughter - live in the style to which we've previously become accustomed. . .
