I navigated through to the curving driveway that led to the back of the house and brought Princess Prissy in that way. It was better to try and keep her calm—she was a high-strung dog and was prone to puking if she got too excited.
Great Aunt Maizy met me at the back door as though she’d been waiting for me. She was a tall, statuesque woman with iron-gray hair done up in an elaborate coif at the top of her head. At the moment, she was dressed like an extra fromTitanicin a cream lace and silk dress and a long rope of real pearls dangling almost to her waist. Actually, this wasn’t far off from her usual style of dress—she had an entire vintage wardrobe which she loved showing off.
“Oh Eliza!” she exclaimed, emphasizing the middle part of my name as she always did when she got upset or excited. “Thereyou areat last!Whatevertookyou so long?”
I wanted to point out that if she’d use a dog groomer closer to the house instead of one that was way across town, it would be a faster trip. But there was no point in arguing with Aunt Maizy about anything because she was one of those people who wasalwaysright—even when they’re wrong. So I just shrugged and said,
“Sorry—there was traffic.”
She fluttered her hands some more—she was wearing white satin gloves with pearl buttons that went all the way up to her elbows—and gave an exasperated sigh.
“Very well—there’s still time if we hurry, I think. We must get Princess Prissy into her wedding dress! Oh, and Mr. Piddlesworth must get into his tux as well.”
“Oh—of course,” I said, without enthusiasm. Mr. Piddlesworth wasn’t too bad and would generally keep his clothes on. Well, except for the top hat, as I said earlier. But Princess Prissyhatedwearing clothes—she always snapped and snarled when I was putting them on her.
To be honest, I kind of agreed with the little Pomeranian on that point. I mean, clothes on a pet just look silly, right? I had no idea how soon I would come to change my mind about that, but at the moment I was blissfully ignorant of my eventual fate. So I simply nodded and carried Prissy—still in her carrier—into the dressing room.
The dressing room was a walk-in closet bigger than my whole bedroom. It had rows and rows of doggy outfits hanging from itty-bitty hangers and wall to ceiling mirrors so the dogs could admire their reflections once they were dressed.
I knew this room well—part of my duties was helping my Great Aunt get her “babies” dressed on the days I worked for her. Aunt Maizy didn’t just dress her dogs for special occasions like Halloween and Christmas—she wanted them looking “perfectly presentable” as she put it,every single day.Have I mentioned she had seven “babies?” Well, she did. And let me tell you, that’s a lot of squirming, wiggling dogs to get in and out of designer outfits on a daily basis.
Lying out on the overstuffed velvet ottoman in the center of the room were two little outfits—a miniature tux and top hat and the gorgeous Vera Wang doggy wedding dress with a little crystal tiara and white satin shoes.
I sighed inwardly when I saw the dress because it reminded me a little of the one I had hanging in my own closet back at my apartment. I didn’t buy it for myself and it was nowhere near as nice as the Vera Wang, (though at least it didn’t have a hole cut in it for a tail,) but it was still a reminder.
My Mom had bought me the dress the year before, back when she was hinting that she wanted to see Don and I get married. The thing was, she bought it three sizes toosmall—“To give you incentive to lose weight for the big day!” as she so brightly put it. She’s as willowy as my big sister, Taylor, and it always bothered her that I had curves. Or a “weight problem” as she tactfully called it—always in a half-whisper, as though she was saying something deeply embarrassing.
Needless to say, the too-small wedding dress didn’t do anything except make me even more ambivalent about marriage than I had been before. I liked Don—who was a short, skinny hardware designer—well enough, but I sort of felt like he had proposed to me because he thought we’d been dating so long that hehadto pop the question. And to be honest, I had accepted for the same reason.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. Or, well, at leastlikehim a lot—he was easy to be around. It was just that having sex with him didn’t really do anything for me. But that wasn’t Don’s fault—no man had ever turned me on. And no woman, either. (I tried in college—nothing.)
I had come to the conclusion that I was probably asexual which was okay—it didn’t really bother me. Though I also didn’t understand why people were so crazy for sex all the time. I would rather read a book.
But back to the wedding dress—I could see right away it was going to be difficult getting Prissy into it without damaging the delicate lace and silk. She was already fighting mad from being at the groomers and being forced into her carrier—being shoved into a designer wedding gown wasn’t going to improve her mood any.
“Let’s get Mr. Piddlesworth into his outfit first,” I said, deciding to save the worst for last.
“Oh—good idea!” My Aunt ran to fetch him. In a moment, she came back holding the wiggling ball of fur in her arms.
Mr. Piddlesworth was a Fox Face Pomeranian which meant that, with his reddish coat and his sharp, pointed little face, he really did look like a miniature fluffy fox. He wiggled and squirmed, trying hard to lick my face while I got him into his teeny tux. As predicted, he wouldn’t wear the top hat, though he would have been happy to chew on it. At last I gave up and left it on the velvet covered ottoman, deciding it could go on at the last minute, right before the ceremony.
Then it was time for what I had been dreading—getting Princess Prissy into her wedding gown.
Prissy was what’s known as a Baby Doll Pom and she was pure white except for her big dark eyes and her little black nose. She would have been adorable if she wasn’t so vicious.
She came out of the carrier growling and snapping and tried to bite me immediately.
“Whoa, there!” I exclaimed, holding her by the middle so she couldn’t get me, though she was twisting her head around and trying her best to bite. “Aunt Maizy, maybe we should give her some time to cool down,” I said, looking up at my Great Aunt who was standing there watching me wrestle her dogs into their formal clothes without lifting a finger to help.
“But wecan’t wait!The ceremony isabout to begin!”my Aunt exclaimed breathlessly. “Wemustget Princess Prissy into her gown and tiara—we simplymust!”
MeaningImust, since she clearly wasn’t going to help.
Grimly, I set about the task of shoving the angry little ball of fur into the delicate lace dress without ripping the fabric or getting bitten. Let me tell you—it wasnoteasy.
Prissy was growling and barking and wiggling like crazy and Great Aunt Maizy was standing over me, looking on anxiously.
“Dobe careful, Eliza!” she exclaimed, fluttering her gloved hands around like agitated doves. “That gown costten timesyour salary! I wouldhateto have to deduct the price of it from your paycheck!”