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Oh no. I’ve finally done it. My dog has an outfit. Is this the sign my life has taken a horrible turn in a Paris Hilton direction? I shudder at the thought. Don’t judge. It’s just…it’s just that it was so ridiculous, and ok, so I thought it was cute. And it was 50% off.  There is no designer label, no bling! It’s…um…practical? A rain jacket. Hey, it is the rainy season here. Basset hounds don’t like the rain. Ok, just look.

Does the end justify the means?

Does the end justify the means?

Now, tell me that wasn’t worth 70 pesos…

I’m pretty sure Alex signed away the last piece of his machismo when he finally broke down and let me buy the dog coat in the store. I remember having a conversation around the first few days we had the puppy, when he could already tell I was clearly out of my mind with cuteness-overload-mixed-with-boredom-driven-insanity, that he uttered words quite close to, if not exactly, “under no circumstances will we ever be buying that dog some clothes.” There was a brief struggle in the pet shop before I could almost hear an audible sigh inside his brain after which the coat was placed on the counter and the debit card came out. That’s LOVE people.

Wet man.

Wet man.

Dry dog.

Dry dog.

Well, what can I say? I broke down. A moment of weakness. I now can no longer snicker at the chihuahuas wearing sweaters or the xoloscuintles wearing soccer jerseys. I am now one of them. Crazy dog lady. Crazy dog lady in the park.

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