Mum doesn’t go out much these days in the evenings. Most of our nights are spent cuddling in front of the glowing TV, or running around the apartment while throwing squeaky things. Good times. But occasionally she does get all tarted up for something or other. I generally get nervous when seeing her going into the closet this late in the day (and not coming out in pajamas). Tonight I could see that she needed my help. She was struggling over what to wear to go out dancing, and couldn’t make a decision. Now mind you, she was fretting over a choice of several almost-identical black dresses (she’s an old goth, she can’t help it), but still, someone had to step in to set her mind at ease.
Enter the Airedale.
I stepped right up to the mirror to get a better view from the front.
Then the side. She looks okie-dokie to me. I still don’t want her to go out, would prefer another evening TV-snacks-and-cuddle session, but at least she looks presentable.