fishnets, along with three tank tops, a black mesh shirt, and a vest.
“You know, Chloe, if you didn’t wear so many clothes at once, you wouldn’t need to do laundry so often.”
“See? There you go, bossing me again.” Chloe reached back into the dryer. “So how long are you planning to pay him to treat you like you treat me?”
Sammi peered into the microwave as the popcorn began rat-a-tat-tatting. “He thinks we can accomplish everything I want within four weeks.”
Chloe snorted again. “That’s not enough time to even tell him all your issues, much less get them solved.”
Sammi put her hands on her hips. “First you don’t want me to hire him, and now you think I should hire him for longer?”
“If he’s going to have a prayer of helping you.”
“I don’t have that many issues.”
“Yes, you do. You’re a total mess.”
This from a woman who dressed like a cartoon character and tattooed people’s private body parts? “I’m not
that
bad,” Sammi said indignantly.
Chloe pulled a red tank top out of the dryer. “Yes, you are. But I don’t know why you’re wasting your money, when I can tell you what your problems are for free.”
Sammi opened a kitchen cabinet. “Which you’re no doubt about to do, no matter how I try to stop you.”
“You’re too much of a softie.”
Sammi pulled out a glass bowl. “I thought you just said I was bossy.”
“You are. But the moment anyone has a problem, you immediately step in and try to solve it, without thinking about the consequences to yourself.” She nodded her head toward the left. “That dog is exhibit A.”
Sammi followed Chloe’s gaze to the small breakfast area, where the enormously oversized brown-and-white boxer stood on his back legs, his front legs on the 1930s stainless-and-Formica table, his head straining toward Sammi’s purse.
“Joe—no!” Sammi scurried toward him. “Down, boy!”
The dog jumped down and slunk away, his ears flattened, his eyes guilty.
Immediately contrite, Sammi knelt down beside him and held out her hand. “I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“See there? Like I said, exhibit A.”
Joe crept toward Sammi’s hand, his tail down, his head hung in shame. Sammi stroked his head. “He has an OCD thing about tanned leather. I shouldn’t have put my purse where he’d be tempted.”
Chloe placed the tank top in the burgeoning laundry basket. “His behavior isn’t exhibit A. That’s exhibit B. Exhibit A is the fact you have him at all.”
Sammi rubbed the flat spot between the dog’s two ears. “Oh, come on, Chloe. You know I had no choice.” Sammi’s close friend Yvette had promised her dying grandfather to take care of his dog—but two months after the funeral, Yvette’s husband had been transferred to China.
Chloe shot her a get-real look. “You could have said no.”
“And make Yvette choose between breaking her promise to her granddad or abandoning her husband?”
“She could have found the dog another home.”
“She did. Twice. And each time, the new owner brought him back.”
“Which would have warned a sane person that the dog is trouble.”
“But Joe needed a home.”
“Yes, but that was Yvette’s problem. And then you stepped in and made it yours. You even drove all the way to Dallas and back to get him, and got your car upholstery chewed up in the process.”
It might not have been the most logical course of action, but Sammi believed in following her heart, and her heart had never been able to refuse a stray. Until a severe allergy had forced her to find them other homes, she’d housed eight stray cats.
Chloe reached for one of Sammi’s expensive wooden clothes hangers, the ones she’d bought to hang the 1930s-style dresses she wore for special programs at the museum. “You need to learn to say no.”
Sammi gave Joe a final pat, then straightened. “Okay. No, you can’t take my wooden clothes hanger. And the next time you want to do
“You know, Chloe, if you didn’t wear so many clothes at once, you wouldn’t need to do laundry so often.”
“See? There you go, bossing me again.” Chloe reached back into the dryer. “So how long are you planning to pay him to treat you like you treat me?”
Sammi peered into the microwave as the popcorn began rat-a-tat-tatting. “He thinks we can accomplish everything I want within four weeks.”
Chloe snorted again. “That’s not enough time to even tell him all your issues, much less get them solved.”
Sammi put her hands on her hips. “First you don’t want me to hire him, and now you think I should hire him for longer?”
“If he’s going to have a prayer of helping you.”
“I don’t have that many issues.”
“Yes, you do. You’re a total mess.”
This from a woman who dressed like a cartoon character and tattooed people’s private body parts? “I’m not
that
bad,” Sammi said indignantly.
Chloe pulled a red tank top out of the dryer. “Yes, you are. But I don’t know why you’re wasting your money, when I can tell you what your problems are for free.”
Sammi opened a kitchen cabinet. “Which you’re no doubt about to do, no matter how I try to stop you.”
“You’re too much of a softie.”
Sammi pulled out a glass bowl. “I thought you just said I was bossy.”
“You are. But the moment anyone has a problem, you immediately step in and try to solve it, without thinking about the consequences to yourself.” She nodded her head toward the left. “That dog is exhibit A.”
Sammi followed Chloe’s gaze to the small breakfast area, where the enormously oversized brown-and-white boxer stood on his back legs, his front legs on the 1930s stainless-and-Formica table, his head straining toward Sammi’s purse.
“Joe—no!” Sammi scurried toward him. “Down, boy!”
The dog jumped down and slunk away, his ears flattened, his eyes guilty.
Immediately contrite, Sammi knelt down beside him and held out her hand. “I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“See there? Like I said, exhibit A.”
Joe crept toward Sammi’s hand, his tail down, his head hung in shame. Sammi stroked his head. “He has an OCD thing about tanned leather. I shouldn’t have put my purse where he’d be tempted.”
Chloe placed the tank top in the burgeoning laundry basket. “His behavior isn’t exhibit A. That’s exhibit B. Exhibit A is the fact you have him at all.”
Sammi rubbed the flat spot between the dog’s two ears. “Oh, come on, Chloe. You know I had no choice.” Sammi’s close friend Yvette had promised her dying grandfather to take care of his dog—but two months after the funeral, Yvette’s husband had been transferred to China.
Chloe shot her a get-real look. “You could have said no.”
“And make Yvette choose between breaking her promise to her granddad or abandoning her husband?”
“She could have found the dog another home.”
“She did. Twice. And each time, the new owner brought him back.”
“Which would have warned a sane person that the dog is trouble.”
“But Joe needed a home.”
“Yes, but that was Yvette’s problem. And then you stepped in and made it yours. You even drove all the way to Dallas and back to get him, and got your car upholstery chewed up in the process.”
It might not have been the most logical course of action, but Sammi believed in following her heart, and her heart had never been able to refuse a stray. Until a severe allergy had forced her to find them other homes, she’d housed eight stray cats.
Chloe reached for one of Sammi’s expensive wooden clothes hangers, the ones she’d bought to hang the 1930s-style dresses she wore for special programs at the museum. “You need to learn to say no.”
Sammi gave Joe a final pat, then straightened. “Okay. No, you can’t take my wooden clothes hanger. And the next time you want to do
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