We have just enjoyed probably THE major gift-giving season of the calendar year. I hope for all of you it was what you expected and more; it was for me.

This is a time when we sometimes get what we really want or need, but we always get what someone else THINKS we want or need. I got some really warm socks, for which these days (it’s frigid in South Jersey) I am truly grateful. However, I can’t imagine why I would need an air compressor, but my husband thinks I do. My neighbor with the beautiful nails and perfect hair was gifted with a three-piece MISOOK cruisewear ensemble and tickets for a cruise. Her husband gave her that. Her teenage son gave her a bejeweled toilet plunger and a pair of Blues Clues fuzzy slippers. You get my drift?

Patience, dear Reader, this is leading up to the Tale.

My stocking was full of the regular stuff: toothbrush and toothpaste, lip balm, a bar of Castile (ahhhhh) soap, various fresh citrus fruits and from my daughter, an economy-sized tube of Phillipe & Regina Pore Reducing and Cell Rejuvenating Firme Masque. I’m no dummy; I know there’s a message there somewhere.

The Mom in the Iron Mask
or
It’s Me, BB, It’s ME!

Last week, we got a beautiful young foster dog, just off the track. Definitely not used to a household and all the accouterments thereof. The sliding glass door, stairs, doorbell, tv, cuckoo clock, all unknowns and scary. You have probably been there so you know of what I speak. Nevertheless, she’s a bright young lady and began to understand a lot of this quickly, using our four hounds as mentors, I’m sure. What seemed to puzzle her the most was Dick and I. She seemed not to be able to accept two people’s just talking and laughing or sitting down together across the table or next to each other. She watched us warily as if our actions were alien. They probably were, to her. But she also saw Kelvin sleeping in his bed and Tess roaching by the hearth, Dashie pokey-nosing for pettings and Suzi napping in her socks. All perfectly normal in a greyhound household. So in two days, it was all right with BB and she didn’t watch us quite so much. She visibly began to relax in our presence.

Various things, such as undecorating the house, mountains of laundry, after-season sales and so on had kept me busy, so I hadn’t had the opportunity to try out some of my gifts until this morning. I got out Phil and Reggie’s magic Masque and decided to treat my wind-whipped face, reduce and rejuvenate and surprise the hell out of Dick when he gets home from work.

Shower complete, hair dried, clothes on, I apply the Masque. It’s a deep shade of purple and has a very pleasant aroma; sort of a subtle lavender-wisteria combo, very feminine. I feel pretty, ooh, so pretty. But I also have things to do. The Masque, to achieve the most beneficial and dramatic effects say the directions, must remain on the face for twenty minutes, during which it becomes Firme. Fine, I can iron while the Masque works it’s magic.

All the puppers are following the sun around the house and are presently sleeping in the family room as I walk through. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have made a sound. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that. But noooooooo. I sashay through the room singing “I feel pretty, ooooohhhh, so...” when foster BB awakens, takes one look at my eggplant-hued visage, jumps into the air and bounces off the sliding glass door in her effort to escape. Unhurt, her exit invisibly but effectively blocked, she wheels to the left and hurtles the Queen Anne chair, behind which was a dozing dog. Disturbed by the rush of air, that dog, Kelvin, leaps up after BB. Tess can’t ignore a chase and off she goes after them. Dasher finally wakes and figures the only thing they can be after is food, so he joins the herd now thundering up the hallway. Suzi is encouraged by the commotion to add her “Rarf”, pause, look west, “Rarf”, look east, “Rarf”, repeating the process over and over.

Oh, Lordy, I am thinking, as I take off after the hounds. Slam! from upstairs. What was that? Then sixteen feet running in the upstairs hall, then nothing, then Slam! as a bed (whose? it sounded like a big one) hits a wall. This is immediately followed by a sound that could only be made by fourteen flamenco dancers on the roof of a condemned building. Understand, this all takes place in a lot less time than it takes me to tell it.

I make it upstairs, intending to calmly try to soothe BB, while my mind is furious with my self for undoing her confidence with me. There is Kelvin on his bed, panting. Tess is on our bed, which is against the opposite wall. Dash, sides heaving, is drinking from the toilet and BB is standing in the corner, facing me. Her eyes widen just a little, but thankfully, she isn’t shaking.

I know the sound of my voice will help because I have talked to her since she came to us. “Meem”, is what I said. The Masque had become Firme. I couldn’t force my lips to make normal sounds. “Good girl, it’s all right” came out “Nooood nuhr, issss orine”. I try again: “Non’t ee sfurred, isss Nonny.” That was supposed to be “Don’t be scared, it” , it’s Mommy.” By the look in BB’s eyes, these are not reassuring words.

Obviously, I am not destined to have reduced pores and rejuvenated cells. I washed off all the fragrant mortar, which had dried and hardened to a breathtaking pale pearl cement, and reentered the bedroom. BB was still standing in the corner, the only dog still awake. I called her name and her tail wagged. I said, “BB, come see me.” She came right away and sniffed my face all over, her tail wagging slowly the entire time.

No, I’m not beautiful today. I have overweight pores and aging cells. But according to one critic, I smell good.