Dogs in Restaraunts

I don’t like dogs. Too be fair, I dislike all animals, especially the ones people keep as house pets.

I was at a Peet’s Coffee (a rich person’s Starbucks). A woman walks in wearing juicy cotoure pajamas and about $100,000 in plastic surgery. She had the audacity to bring her filthy mutt into the coffee shop. Hello! Do we no longer have health code regulations?

I walked up to the Barista and said, “Ummm….” I pointed to the Mutt with my eyes.
Barista: I’m sorry…?

Me: Aren’t you going to do something about that … animal?

The Dog’s Owner, who was standing two feet away from me, made the ill-advised decision to join my conversation.

Crazy Dog Woman: “His name is Molasses.”

I ignore her and roll my eyes.

Crazy Dog Woman: “What, you can’t talk to me.”

Me: “I don’t talk to someone who names an animal “Molasses.” Seriously, what a stupid name. You saw too many Disney movies as a little girl.

I walked away like a smug peacock (peacocks are smug, right?).

I sit, sip my decaf, light whip, moca. To my horror, I feel a wet object slide across my hand. The beast is licked me. I glare at the woman the way that Dick Cheney glares at children.

Me: Get off me.

Crazy Dog Woman: Apologize!

Me: Um… are you kidding me?

Crazy Dog Woman: Apologize to Molasses. You insulted him.

Me: First of all, your dog doesn’t love you.

Crazy Dog Woman: Yes he does. I’m his mommy

Me: Jesus. No. He doesn’t love you. He is not capable of love. He is a fucking dog. Try Match.com.

I hate Los Angeles sometimes.