Those 70ish Girls

Dollie: I know you’re bone tired, but can we talk? I can’t believe I just said “bone.” The dogs and I had a meeting today and I was chosen to be the scribe. My notes say, “Tell her we have a bone to pick.”

Can I come up on the bed with you?

MG: Sure…What is your beef?

Dollie: I have ten issues on my list. Only two include the word, beef. Now I’m confused. Can I call a friend?

MG: I’m your only friend, Dollie.

Dollie: I’m okay with that…I know you think I’m a loner, but even loners need someone to throw them a bone now and then…there’s that awful word again.

MG: I get it, Dollie. You think you’re not getting enough attention. I try very hard to give you some quality time every day. You do realize there is no fenced yard or dog door at this RV park. I have to walk the dogs several times a day. What does it say about that in your notes?

Dollie: We discussed my training them how to use a litter box, but they just don’t get it. They tried to bury their bones in my sand…gross. I seem to have bones on the brain. Forget them. Will you rub my ears and scratch under my chin?

MG: Sure…What exactly did those dogs have to complain about, anyway.

Dollie: They say you keep them on a short leash…and they want more of those whatchamacallits.

MG: Bones?

Dollie: Sounds about right. Gotta go! I hear Kip getting my food ready…

MG: Bone appetite

Dollie: You need to bone up on your French, MG