My Mother, clearly still working through some Empty Nest Depression issues, persists in dressing up our senile toy poodle Kelsey like a mammalian Barbie--even though, at 98 (in dog years) he is the most senior member of our family.
Deep in his eyes, it seems K is thinking, "It ain't easy being apricot."
My Mother, as an added dig to me, corrected the mistake I made with my D in "Pobody's"; she printed the D right way round (instead of my abysmal spelling performance on my own shirt, where the D was featured backwards).
My brother, C, and I are using this as the high water mark in our own mild elder-abuse, when the time comes. I am particularly excited to put a radio controlled squiring flower on Pop's lapel which I can control at family functions.
For Mumsey, because of the affront to my own ego, will get the radio controlled whoopie cushion (although she likely won't need it).
I do, however, like the inclusion of the expression, "Hey bro!". It paints pictures in my mind that Kelsey really rocks the apricot afro when he's out with the neighbourhood pooches.