Why my life is complicated....
….When you are a funny, artistic person (or at least think you are) you sometimes find yourself dating other funny, artistic people. And those funny, artistic people might have a funny, artistic name for their dog. And such is the case of my life, and how I have come to be the adopted mother of Dr. Lance Pemberton, III (aliases: “Doc,” “The Doctor,” “Lancer,” “Dr. P,” “Don’t eat that. No! Are you fucking kidding me! Don’t you think about putting that in your mouth! Don’t you even … shit!”
So I present to you the following conversation I just had with my groomer.
Groomer: What is your dog’s name?
Me: Dr. Pemberton
Groomer: What? I mean your dog’s name.
Me: It’s Dr. Pemberton.
Groomer: Oh. Well, let me look to see if he’s in our database (pause). How do you spell that?
Me: P-E-M-B-E-R-T-O-N
Groomer: No, he doesn’t seem to be in our database.
Me: Well, maybe check under his first name?
Groomer: And what would that be?
Me: Lance.
Groomer: Spell that?
Me: L-A-N-C-E.
Groomer: Nope, not there either. What’s your name?
Me: Dorothy Robinson
Groomer: No, not there. Anyone else he might be under?
Me: My boyfriend, Brewster Scott?
Groomer: (Pause) … last name Brewster?
Me: No, that’s his first. His last name is Scott.
Groomer: (pause) No, not here.
Me: Well, his nickname is Nat.
Groomer: The dog’s?
Me: No, my boyfriend.
Groomer: (Pause).
Me: (laughing) How about I just come in and we’ll put him in the database then?
Groomer: Sounds good.
