I’m pleased to report, everything is copacetic with me and Carmela’s dad. Just to recap (see, Hit With Shrapnel), I got my big nose out of joint when he wasn’t his usual friendly self last time we met. Since then, after bumping into him and Carmela on the avenue, all is well…so well, I got to walk her again.
The two of us headed east rather than towards the park so not to be swallowed by the AIDS Walk I regretfully never walk in. I don’t do well in crowds, a flimsy excuse I know, but the only one I have.
Carmela, I can see, really loves when we walk together since I basically let her walk me. Consider me the aunt who’s so enamored of her four-legged niece she lets her do anything she wants including flirt with a rottweiler five times her height.
It’s my fault really, since I introduced her To Mr. Kato, who I see most mornings when I leave Starbucks. His owner, a tattooed, earring kinda guy, walks him at around 6, so I get to pet him on my way home. He’s a beautiful dog with the head of a seal whose eyes drip with sweetness as you make a fool of yourself sitting on the sidewalk securing a better hug, but back to Carmela.
She is quite the femme fatale since she loves all dogs. I always laugh when she assumes her, flat to the ground position as though she were on a reconnaissance mission whenever one comes into view.
But I’ve never seen her lose her mind the way she has over Mr. Kato. I mean her tail doesn’t just wag, it hyperextends as though she were mining for gold. Mr. Kato, being the European he is, is much more controlled, but lets it be known subtly, he likes her too.
Me and Tattoo chat while they sniff one another into a sensual stupor. I try to be laid back about the whole thing, but frankly I’m worried. Carmela is only a year-old and a little too young to have a steady beau. She is big for her age (like I was) giving the wrong impression (like I did) plus you know how young girls are, you can’t tell them anything. Next thing I’ll know she’ll be climbing out her window to go to some party on the West Side with lipstick wearing only a see-through harness.
But now I’m digressing.
It took three cookies, and a considerable amount of arm pulling that may have sprained my wrist to get her to leave. I’m only allowed 45 minutes with her before she turns into an actual basset hound. Her father, who really is so kind to let me have her, paces on the porch until we return.
When we finally did arrive 10 minutes late, Carmela looked as if she’d been to a rodeo. She had clumps of mud stuck to her from rolling in the dirt with her rollicking, romantic rot. I tried cleaning her, but I’m guessing, from lusty perspiration, was why it wouldn’t come off.
I kept smiling at her father, who looked a little pale, hoping he didn’t see. Turns out they were in the middle of brunch so he may have been slightly hammered, a boon if there ever was one.
I left quickly after whispering to Carmela, “Go inside and clean up for heaven’s sake or our walks will be a thing of the past.” She nodded before trotting off.
I think, come tomorrow morning when I see Mr. Kato, I just may have to tell him, she’s still a bit too young for such a heated romance.