Whatever you say

On our evening walk, a woman stops me to say my dog is “just the most adorable little thing.”

“Thank you.”

“What kind of dog is he?” she asks.

“He’s a Coton.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she says. “I think he’s a Maltese.”

It’s been a long day and I have a strict policy against arguing over facts, so I decide to tell a little white lie about my little white dog.

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s a Maltese.”

“I knew I was right,” she says. “I could just tell.”


She takes out her phone and shows me a picture of her dog, a Maltese named Roman.

“See! They’re practically twins.”

I hesitate because Roman and Morty resemble each other the way an apple resembles an orange.


Again I lie.

“Twins. Like looking in a mirror.”

“What’s his name?” she asks.

“Roman,” I lie.



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