Good choice, I think.
Then it was time to stuff......and fluff......and decide whether the dog wanted clothes or a bed, etc. The Soap Queen buys all the do-dads and she gave him the choice. He choose the bed, a bowl and a baby dog which hangs from the Daddy dog's mouth. Good choice. What self respecting dog wants to wear pants?Then it was time to give him a name...which I have forgotten. The baby dog's name is Max.Mom watches as he types in all the information.Smiley thinks it's pretty fun, coming to Build a Bear. He always gets to come."When will it be my turn?" he seems to be saying.On the way out of the mall we walked through Deseret Book and a sales girl said, "You may not take photos in this store."
What a fat head. Oh, excuse me, I mean, what a diligent sales person, making sure I followed the letter of the law. I tried to joke around with her but she was not having any of that. She did not waste any charm on me, either. I should write to Sherri Dew and tell her that she has succeeded in hiring sales people with zero percent charm and ninety-five percent gestapo tendencies. Or maybe the sales girl's boyfriend dumped her and she couldn't stand to be civil. Can't say I blame the boyfriend. Oh, did I say that? Sorry. A little I've-been-told-off-by-a-snippy-sales-girl cattiness. So I smiled at her and put the camera away.Happy Birthday, darling ten-year-old Gamer. You made a good choice. I love your dog and baby Max too. But most of all I love you and so does Grandpa. We love you very much. Happy. happy birthday. And many more.