Fanny's World View

Fanny and I don't always see eye to eye. Here are a few of her most cherished beliefs:

She believes an entire package of wieners is an "appetizer."

She believes it is never too cold, too hot, or too wet to go for a walk.

She believes that Mick the cat was put on earth to be her wind-up toy.

She believes our small couch is just the right size for two adults and one bulldog lying on her side completely stretched out.

She believes that twenty or thirty bones strewn about adds a certain rustic charm to our living room.

She believes that her backend aromas are fun and interesting.

She believes that everyone on earth enjoys having a sixty pound bulldog jump up to greet them.

She believes that no mud puddle should be ignored.

She believes that it is not at all comical to sleep with your tongue sticking out half an inch.

She believes that when Dave and I are lying on the floor in front of the fireplace we want her to join us. And if we are playing trivial pursuit, the game is more fun with her lying on the board.

She believes that while God invented the great outdoors, dry dog food and dog beds, he later invented velvet couches, silk pillows, heaters, air conditioning and bacon so she shouldn't hurt his feelings by ignoring the improvements.

She believes that if she lies on her back with four paws in the air, we will be overcome by the urge to stroke her belly. She also believes that belly stroking can never last too long.

She believes that when danger threatens, she should stand with her back end touching me. Whether this is her protecting me or me protecting her I'm not clear on.

She believes that three years old is not too old to whimper like a puppy if she thinks I have slept too late. She can go in and out of the dog door by herself, but all is not right with the world if I am not up and reading the paper by 10:00 am no matter how late I stayed up the night before.

And finally, she believes that no human activity: eating, cooking, cleaning, driving, biking, knitting, swimming, hiking, reading, or painting is more fun with a bulldog. And on that we can agree on. Most of the time.

When Good Clothes Go Bad

Two middle-aged sisters wearing jeans tried to enter a church where their 88 year old mother was attending services, only to be rebuked by the preacher, the 86 year old Rev. Clarence June Lover. Reba Storey, 46, recounted the heated exchange :

"You're not wearing pants in my church, you demon," Storey claimed the preacher said. "I said, 'I'm glad I serve a God who can work through my pants.'"

And isn't it true that so often when we stare into our closet, the demon whispers bad things into our ears. "Wear the pants with the elastic waist band," he says when we were thinking it might be time to go on a diet.

"Yes," he says, "Stripes do go with checks."

"All men look great in tight-fitting tangerine-colored golf shirts."

"Lime green chiffon is a fabulous look for mother of the bride."

"You are never too old to wear Winnie the Pooh on your clothes."

"The seventies was the best fashion decade ever! You should always wear that brown, green, and turquoise striped sweater."

"Denim goes with rhinestones just like rum goes with coke!"

"Eleven is the perfect age to wear a T-shirt proclaiming, 'Princess Slut.'"

"Nobody will notice you are fat if you wear these sweat pants."

"Biking clothes make you look like a sex god. Trust me."

"I don't care what the principal says, if you spend four years sewing sequins on your confederate flag dress, you will get to go to the prom."

Some Day...

When my daughter Gwen was four years old, she said one day, apropos of nothing, "When I am the Mommy and you are the child." There was no punishment involved, just a simple statement of plans that she was making once the present situation rectified itself. She spoke so confidently I was almost convinced that this indeed would happen one day. Then again she spoke confidently of having four children and naming them Smelly, Belly, Jelly, and Marshmallow.

But sometimes I think I see this same look in Fanny's eyes: Someday when I am the master and you are the pet...

That's the look she gives me when I throw away perfectly good scraps and tell her she has been eating too many snacks lately.

That's the look she shoots Dave when he thoughtlessly eats all 4 pieces of bacon I've made for breakfast.

It is the look in her eyes when we come back to the car after running a short errand and find her sitting in the driver's seat. And we make her move into the back seat. Oh the ignominy!

The Sweet Smell of Synergy

On the cable show American Chopper, Paul Teutul and his son, Paul Jr. build custom-made motorcycles. The show has spawned its own line of fragrances:

Full Throttle, based on fragrances favored by Paul Jr., smells like a mix of essences of anise, mint, black licorice, white pepper and hints of suede and cashmere.

The line, which went into 1,200 stores nationwide in time for the holiday shopping season, is expected to have sales of more than $4 million by the end of January.

Which got me thinking. There are many shows out there "ripe" for perfume tie-in marketing.

Seinfeld: Smells like nothing.

Gilligan's Island: Smells like salt, sand, bananas, and big fat skippers.

Survivor: Smells like salt, sand, sweat, bloody back-stabbing, and a million bucks.

Desperate Housewives: Smells like lemon Pledge, Dawn dishwashing detergent, Downy fabric softener, and red-hot mammas.

Sopranos: Smells like cigars, marinara sauce, and duffel bags filled with body parts.

Sex and the City: Smells like very expensive shoe leather, with a touch of coffee, chocolate, and essence of streets of New York.

Happy Days: Smells like Chocolate malt, leather jacket, greasy hair stuff, and pimple cream.

Brady Bunch: Smells like home perms, dog hair, wood-grain panaling, and a whiff of six kids sharing two bedrooms.