It never ceases to amaze me how much black dog hairs appear upstairs where Vespa isn't allowed. Every morning when I wash my face I find umpteen hairs in the sink and when I vacuum my bedroom you'd think he'd been lying around on the floor there. So much so I'm almost wondering if he has a sneaky trample around when I'm not looking.
I'm off to London tomorrow to my brother's retirement party and I'm staying in London until Saturday with places to go and people to meet. In some ways I'm looking forward to it, but in other ways I'd far rather be at home in front of the telly watching Wimbledon, but you can be sure that the very last thing I'll find while staying with my mother are black dog hairs.
I won't miss long black hairs everywhere, but I will miss my morning cuddle and the general ambiance of having an affectionate personality around, because you can be sure that the other very last thing I'll find while staying with my mother is a feeling of 'someone loves me'. No I'm heading for the land of bad moods and criticism.
You know what? I think I'd rather have the black hairs!
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