The Monsieur Smith Salon for Dogs

Hi. It’s Summer.

The other night at dinner my mom said to my dad, “I was at the vet today picking up dog food and I saw a chart which said that Summer is already forty years old in people years.”



Since I was plopped in my usual place on the floor near her feet, I couldn’t help but overhear.

Horrors! Forty? I had no idea I was forty already!

It appears as though I am not a spring chicken any more. (Of course, I never was a chicken–spring or otherwise–but you get my gist.)

Throughout the rest of the evening, I did my utmost to grasp the fact that I have started into my middle years. Most people (from what I understand) ease into those years gradually, knowing all along that they’re coming. But me? I had no idea the time had passed so fast. How did that even happen?

So. The next question was what to do with that alarming, disheartening, and disquieting information.

I did the only thing I could do. I scheduled a midlife crisis.

And when that was over, I took myself off to The Monsieur Smith Dog Salon and scheduled a make over. Because one does not want to enter one’s middle years feeling dowdy, does one?

When I showed up for my appointment, Monsieur Smith (AKA Dad) was getting everything organized and Mademoiselle Smith (AKA as Sister), was getting herself ready to watch the transformation that was about to be.

We started things off with a little general brushing, just to remove any teeny tangles and to bring my hair back to its youthful luster. (If indeed it is not too late in life for luster.)

Girlfriend (that would be me ) loves some personal pampering.

Monsieur Smith was just the man for the job.

He was oh so solicitous and asked me several times, “Are you comfortable, Madame? May I get you some Perrier?” (I planned to leave him a big, big tip.)

After the initial brushing was over and I was feeling mellifluously mellow (Perrier does it to me every time), Monsieur and I spent some time discussing where I should head with my new look. I wanted something that was appropriate for the middle years and yet still carried with it a hint of youthful zing. Because hey, forty is the new twenty, right? And zing is good, right?

Well, Monsieur decided that he would create for me all the zing I could ever want in the form of a Troll Doll hairstyle. He thought it accentuated my cheek bones, de-accentuated my wide-ish hips and gave me a long, lean silhouette.

What was he thinking?

I took one look in the mirror and gasped! Troll Doll! I think NOT ! I am much too refined (and middle-aged) for such nonsense!.

Next, we tried a Quasi Winged Look, which gave me a classy yet contemporary styling. It was just okay.

I don’t think it quite captured the quintessence of my essentiality or the loveliness of the fabulously complicated and yet simple persona of the dignified and fun-loving sweet inner canine that I have come to be.

I tried to explain all that to the Monsieur but he just said, “Huh?”

I just don’t think men are equipped to handle a female’s thought process. (Bless their hearts.)

We moved right along to Look Number Three, a smoothly coiffed style, perfect for a night out on the town with the girls. I would just need to add a jeweled evening bag and some red lipstick and I’d be good to go!

The next style (and pose) in Monsieur’s line up made me feel just a little like a meerkat. Which—since I am a dog– was not ideal.

Now let me just add right here that the whole time Monsieur Smith was working on this Middle-Aged Mama Makeover, he kept reassuring me that he was saving the best look for last. He had just learned how to create this particular style on a recent trip to Le Canine Academie in Paris and he assured me that “all the dogs” were wearing it.

I trusted him, okay? He seemed like such a nice man.

Life Lesson: Never trust a hairdresser . . . .

. . . .whose first name is Monsieur.

And I’ve changed my mind about that big tip.