Annie's Dog Has Fleas

ANNIE’S DOG HAS FLEAS

296 words

Annie’s a stunning beauty and her lovely curves are in all the right places.  More importantly she’s a nice girl. It’s no wonder I fell for her like a lovelorn nerd with a pocket protector and taped-together horn-rimmed glasses drooling over the prom queen.



The first time I saw her was a sunny day in April. Spring flowers were blooming, the air so soft it seemed to caress your skin. She was wearing painted-on bicycle tights. Her blond hair streamed behind her as chased after a beautiful chocolate lab, playing a game of Frisbee in the park. I could tell she loved that dog.



It didn’t take long for me to figure out that the best way to meet her was through that dog. Before I had a chance to chicken out I was rubbing the dog behind the ears and telling the lovely creature how much I loved her dog. I begged her to go out with me. She surprised me by saying she would. Over the next few months we really did the town. We went to movies, out to fancy restaurants and danced until the wee hours—sometimes even on week nights. I was so infatuated that I soon told her I loved her.



Here’s the astounding part; she fell in love with me, too. Now we’re engaged.



Only after the engagement did I discover that Annie’s not the girl for me. The old break-up cliché actually applies here. It isn’t her, it’s me. She is nearly perfect but I couldn’t spend the rest of my life with her.



We are just so different in too many ways. But that’s not the main problem. I can’t marry Annie. You see, her dog’s gorgeous brown coat is full of fleas.