Fuck.
I am working in someone's home again.
Her shirt was tucked into her underwear. I didn't say anything. Maybe this was in style.
I put out my hand to shake hers. She practically tapped it and asked me to take off my shoes before I entered the house.
So much for my heels! My outfit was ruined. I hate Hollywood.
I stepped inside her kitchen and a slew of rodent-puppy-ankle-biters approached me like the gang in She-Devils on Wheels. They were barking so much; their eyes were going to pop out of their heads. I swear, to this day, I saw a tiny turd pop out of one of them as they howled at me.
Susan Ellen yelled something at me, but I couldn’t hear over the puppies’ explosive yelps.
"What?"
"Put down your bag. The dogs don’t like purses."
The dogs don’t like purses…
I put down my bag by the door and entered the twilight zone.
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