My mom admits it. She was worried that my arrival would disrupt her busy schedule. Besides running her business, she takes classes in improv and ceramics. She is a volunteer tour guide for AIA, the architectural association. Where, she wondered, would she find time for a dog – especially a demanding, high-maintenance Canine Urban Princess like me?
Okay, I have been here nearly two weeks. My mom decided to try on a pair of her favorite shorts. They’re about 15 years old but still perfect (Eddie Bauer never dies, she says), if somewhat out of fashion.
Since when does my mom care about fashion, anyway? These shorts were too tight a few weeks ago, before I came, because she was really grooving on Philly food she’d never touch in Seattle.
To my mom’s amazement, this time she fit into her shorts easily and her other clothes have become nice and loose. She’s thrilled.
My mom doesn’t get on scales. She refuses to acknowledge weight as an issue. “It’s all in the inches,” she says, “and the muscle.” She flexes her biceps as soon as anyone mentions aging and she’s actually proud of wearing the same clothes she wore last time she lived in Philadelphia.
I, of course, have no choice. I was about 38 pounds last weigh-in. Given our walking schedule, I’m probably closing in on my former princess weight.
My mom does not want me to look like a portly Dowager Queen. When I gain weight, she starts muttering about exorbitant vet bills.
So I’m off the hook, at least for now. We’ve been taking at least 2 30-minute walks a day. Today we walked for 40 minutes.
My mom even admits she gets ideas for her business while we walk. She sleeps better at night because she’s just as tired as I am. See… I am also a life coach. Doesn’t that qualify for higher-class crunchies?