Grey Hearts and Flowers

A Pig in a Dress

"You know, that color really brings out the blush in your complexion," I say to the lady in periwinkle as we sit poolside in formal wear, sipping hibiscus lemonade and listening to an arrangement of romantic instrumentals I've had made for the occasion. I straighten the red velvet tie of my tux as I take a gander at her plunging neckline."But, don't you think it's a bit revealing for a first date? I mean, this guy's a real rat."

She snorts at me. Of course she does. She's a real pig.

"Hey Phoebe," I call out. "Is Chester almost ready? His date is getting impatient out here." His date, Henrietta—whose hog high heels are sticking gopher-sized holes a la Caddyshack in the imitation lawn—is starting to take the shrubs up at the back of the dollhouse with her snout. I'm afraid the Pilates deck is next. I'm not sure how I got to be guardian of the hog, but here I am, sitting in a strawberry shaped chair three sizes too small for my ass, holding Henrietta on a rhinestone studded leash while we wait for Chester and Phoebe to get done in her dressing room. It's been a long wait. And, like I find when I'm forced to talk to Tilly, after a few minutes you run out of conversation with a pig in a dress.

"Don't drink out of the pool!" I say to Henrietta as she sticks her snout in the water. I pull her leash to keep her back. "I think Chester pees in there."

The whole place is decked out with heart shaped balloons, pink and white roses and flickering lightbulbs that look like candles—no way, no how would I allow the real thing to burn in here with this zoo in love on the loose. I've had the event catered by The Mile High Club. When they asked me dietary restrictions for the occasion, I answered pork because of the lady's family concerns. They asked if she was kosher and I had to tell them no, that it actually could be a concern that a family member of hers may be on the menu. But, they know who they're talking to, so they don't ask any questions. Chef Leopoldo designed the vegetarian spread that's set on Phoebe's daffodil tea table with the finest linens and china and crystal. We're seated next to the Barbie jacuzzi, so once the non-alcoholic bubbling grape juice kicks in Chester can get his date all hot and bothered in the bubbles of the hot tub. Although, at best I'm not sure she'll fit and at worst I'm afraid she'll sit on him and drown him.

"I'm getting his socks and shoes on," Phoebe calls out. "The little penny fell out of one of his loafers." The little penny must be the size of an ant shit. And I thought finding Barbie shoes was a pain. I'm surprised she doesn't have me on the floor with my iPhone flashlight, searching for his loose change.

"I'm sure she won't mind, she's missing a heel herself," I yell back after noticing the thing stuck in the lawn like some pig pink yard gnome. Henrietta's also missing panties. I can see this because her dress is hiked up around her waist, but I won't mention her missing unmentionables.

She's starting to walk inside the Barbie house now. I'm fearful she might make a hard turn and take out a floor. Or Chester's pool-house apartment. I know his waterbed wouldn't survive the collapse. And I don't want to be responsible for all that Gucci leather in his closet being ruined.

"Now, now, Henrietta." I tug her leash back, but she doesn't budge, so I reach over and try to pull her hind end with my hands and she immediately starts squealing like I'm some alley assaulter. "Sorry, cold hands." I pull them away.

"He's ready," Phoebe says, walking out, carrying the Don Juan furball himself, who's all decked out in a lilac, ruffled shirt Armani tux. I had to pay Giorgio extra, because ruffles and lilac are against his religion. Chester looks like a 70's gigolo who got lost on his way to buy his body weight in gold chains and cologne and ended up at an all night disco.

"Sorry we're late," she says. "Chester had to wash his hair so it wouldn't smell like where he goes poopy."

"That's the first thing I do before a hot date." I notice he's still got the pink dye on the old tuft up top, but it's more buzz military cut now. Has he been to the hairdresser, too? Franco probably came over and did it. It looks like his work. Ever since I've contracted him exclusively for my family, he's always trying to get his hands in someone's tresses for an extra dime.