: a bad, bad, terrible impression :

The dog, bless her heart, isn’t terribly bright. She’s trusting, though, and that’s to her everlasting detriment. I sometimes use her naiveté for entertainment purposes: she’ll fall for anything.

My newest and most ambitious scam to date is pretending to be Julia Child. Now, anyone who knows me — even a little — knows I can’t cook. It’s also interesting to note I’m not 6 feet tall, a television personality, or an author, and if you try to put me in an apron I’ll cry. However, Julia Child and I are both Leos. Plus, I do a zealous, wholehearted impersonation. Them’s my qualifications.

Well, I had to do something. The dog is a picky eater. She wants fine, table-ready cuisine only, nothing canned or bagged or preserved. And in a clean bowl. (Who doesn’t, right?) Unfortunately, I don’t have the skills or the attention span to prepare fancy meals for a dog, so I started pretending. I give an elaborate play-by-play of my preparations and then misrepresent the ingredients. I call the gloppy liquid in the pouches ‘au jus’ and the dry food ‘croutons’ and use distinctly culinary terms to describe what I’m doing. I’m not stirring and dumping, I’m whisking and folding.

She watches and sniffs, looks skeptical, but reluctantly surrenders. Oh, my little lounge act isn’t all that convincing, but she goes along with it. Kind of like you, bless your hearts, go along with my impersonation of a writer. Thank you and my sincere apologies.

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