Sunday shorts: Hairy Sundays
There was a time when my clothes were washed, steamed, and pressed after each wear. My attire was pulled together and edited daily, from head to toe. Sometimes the shoes matched the accessories, or the jewellery I wore would fit in the theme of the day: a robot necklace for a tech summit or earrings made from recycled materials for a launch of an environmental initiative. You wouldn’t find an eyelash out of place.
These days dog hairs are hiding in skirt pleats, stuck to my nylons, and decorating my coats, backpacks, and scarves. I choose skirts made of heavy, stretchy, durable fabrics that permit me to bend down or brush them vigorously. Some dresses get temporarily branded with paw prints as I make my way out the door, so I carry a small garment brush with me wherever I go. The lint rollers - present in every room - have collectively given up out of sheer exhaustion.
The dog follows me into the closet and waits as I change from one thing to another, leaving behind tufts of his coat as the static in the air affixes them to everything in that space. He runs downstairs and waits by the door, shedding a trail along the way. I can’t leave the house without his fur marking me as his human. I wonder if he’s trying to remind me of the unconditional love that awaits me at home when I notice the little bristles on me. Sometimes I think he sheds to make room for my falling hair as I continue living through these still unprecedented times. And other times, I theorize that it’s his way of teaching me to be just a little bit less fussy, composed, and in control.
There will be a day when the corners of the rooms will be clump-free and clothes won’t have fuzz clung to them, when the trail of a waggy-tailed jumping dog and all of his sable-coloured offerings will only be a memory. I promise myself I won’t chase the fluffs anymore or fill mornings and evenings with the thrum of a vacuum. No, I’d much rather spend my time tossing the dog a ball that he never brings back, or have his furry head rested on my legs as I type, both of us happy that we’re here together, warm by the fire.
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