Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
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 too small—“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 he had to 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 least like him 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 we can’t wait! The ceremony is about to begin!” my Aunt exclaimed breathlessly. “We must get Princess Prissy into her gown and tiara—we simply must!”
Meaning I must, 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 was not easy.
Prissy was growling and barking and wiggling like crazy and Great Aunt Maizy was standing over me, looking on anxiously.
“Do be careful, Eliza!” she exclaimed, fluttering her gloved hands around like agitated doves. “That gown cost ten times your salary! I would hate to have to deduct the price of it from your paycheck!”
I restrained myself from glaring up at her.
“I’m doing my best,” I said shortly. “I—ouch! She bit me!”
“Oh—are you bleeding?” Great Aunt Maizy exclaimed, a worried look on her face.