My mom and I agree on one thing. We LOVE Friday afternoons.
I go off with my Aunt Sara for yet another adventure in Magnuson Park. There’s something magical about these outings. Even total strangers say, “That dog really enjoys being here.” I have my pack of dog friends and keep running into people who know me. They don’t know my mom. Every so often we’re in Regrade Park and someone says, “Oh Gracie, it’s you!”
Don’t tell anybody, but I think my mom is jealous of my celebrity. How do I know? She was telling someone on the bus, “Being Gracie’s mom is a little like living with Paris Hilton.”
But my mom has no problems in the self-esteem department, especially as she gets older. (Uh-oh, I wrote the “o” word.) She takes off every Friday afternoon for a workout and (every other week) a massage with the best massage therapist in Seattle, she tells me, and maybe the world. On alternate Fridays she goes off to prowl around bookstores, museums or coffee shops.
My mom used to be baffled by massage therapy. “What’s the big deal?” she would say. Now she started about a year ago and she’s addicted.
I could have told her, “Massage is great.” Total strangers come up and give me back rubs, belly rubs and butt rubs. I love it. My mom would say that’s not exactly what she had in mind, but she doesn’t know what she’s missing.
Anyway, my mom’s got her priorities in place. “No matter what,” she tells me, “your dog walks and my massages come first.”