The Village Groomer 2245 Providence Hwy. No, not on that poodle cross who came in with more impressive dreadlocks than Bob Marley, and not on the cranky Lhasa whose owner insists on poodle feet. I'm talking about you, the groomer, here.
Image is a tricky thing.
It calls to mind the way you appear to others as well as the way you appear to yourself. Gone are the days when I rushed to the after-school PTA meeting with a big tuft of dog hair dangling provocatively from my seat. And I no longer cut the line at my after-work supermarket stop by shedding on fellow shoppers. Thank goodness those days are over. Now I can sashay around the shop in a leopard-print smock or a little black jumpsuit emblazoned with silver scissors.