Best in Show

On Friday, I went to the doctor and found out that I have yet another respiratory infection, which results in me hacking up gross things the size of a marble and coughing all night.  If I wasn't sexy enough, this is putting me over the top.  It's unfair, really.  The doctor put me on Zithromax and a bumped up inhaler to Albuterol, and told me to use the neti-pot and take Zyrtek.  I was telling a friend about this and realized, "Oh holy shit, I'm so old all I can talk about are my medical problems."  I should be in a deli, getting lox and bagels and saying, "Oy, Levi, my chest, it feels like I have a matzo ball stuck in it."

I decided I needed to rally.  We went to a friend's house for dinner, and this friend happens to own three lovely Corgis and shows them.  In the discussion, we found that she was actually in the middle of a two-day show, and asked The Son if he would like to tag along to help.  Dogs?  Helping?  His sisters weren't asked? Of course he's in!

Our friend picked him up at 7:30 a.m.  On Sunday mornings, I'm not quite lucid then, so I waved goodbye, braless and in my pajama shorts, and crawled back in bed.  I told our friend I would be there between 9 and 10 to check out the show and get The Son.  At 9 a.m., I decided to take a shower, so we didn't get out the door until 9:45, and then I realized I needed $5 cash to get into the show.  Youngest Daughter went with me, and immediately announced in the car that she needed Kleenex and possibly Skittles.  I stopped at the nearest convenience store, a Dollar General, and bought Kleenex with the idea that I could get cash.  In the checkout lane, I didn't get the cash option when I ran my debit card. "We don't offer that anymore."  Crap.  Okay, I need some Kilz primer for my basement walls, so I pulled up at the next store, K&K Hardware.  I ran inside with YD, bought a gallon of Kilz, a brush, and some flamingo stringed lights because they appealed to the white trash in me.  I'm in the checkout lane, and $50 later I discover they also do not give cash back for debit cards.  WHA?  Now I'm 30 minutes late and out $80 total. 

There is a bank across the street from the hardware store.  I decide to bite the bullet on the ATM fees and just get out some cash.  I get my $5, all is well, I'm driving toward the Expo Center and...NO.  You have GOT to be kidding me.  I get my period.  On my way to a warehouse full of dogs, who will all look up when I walk in, lift their noses in the air, sniff, and then bark out, "Tough break, lady." Or try to hump me.  But these are well behaved dogs, and they neither bark nor hump.  At least not without a command or a treat.

I tour the facility with Youngest Daughter, and I'm dying.  Most of the people showing dogs there appear to be normal, lovely people who love dogs.  But some of them?  Are from the movie "Best in Show". 

It's real, people. 

My friend informed me the night before that Best in Show is actually closer to a documentary than fictitious movie.  George the Superpet would last about a minute in here before he would be escorted out in shame.  I tried to take pictures, and then I tried to upload them, but so far all I've ended up with is this picture and a crashed Blackberry:

This is of a whole line of dogs being groomed,

but of course, Techno Granny can't get the shot.

I got a picture of a woman with her dog by her side and her dog grooming comb stuck in the top of her ponytail.  I got a picture of some Maltese with their ponytail on top and their side fur from their jowls all wrapped up so it didn't ruin the grooming (and when I asked the owner if I could take their picture she said in a very fatigued and put-upon way, "Thank you for asking!").  I got a picture of about 6 adorable St. Bernards lined up.  I did not get a picture of the couple bickering in front of me about how maybe the dog didn't do well because of the handler, not the dog.  I did not get a picture of the woman in her floor-length hot pink North Face parka with her Chanel sunglasses and Gwen Stefani lipstick, barking orders at her male companion while he blow-dried the Scottish Terrier they seemed to claim.  I did not get a picture of the woman fastening silver halogenic David Bowie-esque "Ground Control to Major Tom" capes around her brindle Boxers.  I did not get the best in show of the pictures to be had.

And that, my friends, is a Damn Shame.

The closest I've come to a dog show before this is watching the Westminster Dog Show with Current Husband in the dating/early years of our marriage, when we would make strawberry dacquiris and eat nachos while wagering which dog was going to win.  I highly recommend a dog show to anyone who hasn't been.  There is an agility competition nearby on Father's Day weekend, and I'm going to cut a hole in one of my purses for a secret Dog Cam, and get the dacquiris chilling.