Being the childless mother of a small dog, I’m aware some people might think me a little tragic. Just how much so was brought home in a conversation with my brother, which went like this:
“Bro, I’ve ordered a dress for the niece. Can you collect it up for me as I can’t get across town this week.”
“Sure,” obliging brother replies.
“They should have put it aside, but just in case they forgot, it’s a rockabilly number with pink flowers and pink petticoats size one.”
He calmly listened as I gave him the name and address of the shop and told him he was the best.
I was just about to hang up when he said gently: “So let me see if I have this right. You have ordered a pink and white rockabilly dress size one for the dog which I’m to pick up from Faster Pussycat in Gertrude Street, Fitzroy?”
So help me, I howled, laughing so hard I had to put the phone down.
“No, you big ninny,” I sputtered through tears.
“My niece” — my husband’s brother’s daughter who has an adorable poppet called Lucie.
“My niece . . . not yours.”
“Well, I did wonder,” he said.
“You’ve never really struck me as the type to dress dogs, but I thought maybe there’s something special on.”
Now, I’ve never regretted not having children. But in that moment I was dazzled by a vision of a pretty grey poodle in a rockabilly frock with pink flowers and puffy petticoats.
Surely, I said to the dog, you’re not going to the park in that!
