Groomed.

Hi friends, Winston here. I went to the Groomers last week to get shaved bald a haircut. I thought I had escaped the terrible fate of ever going to the Groomers. Dad bought hair clippers with the thought that he would give me haircuts from now on because he hates when I look like a poodle. But apparently three hours spent sitting in the bathroom, covered in my fluff wasn't a pleasant experience. He says I don't cooperate, but honestly would you? How would you like being forced to sit still for three hours while someone poked and prodded you, not to mention shaved off your charming good looks? My golden curls make me who I am people! Geez. I don't even recognize my own reflection. The one plus of going to the groomers: I am cool as can be. These hot summers are trying times for a ball of curls like me. But like mom says when she puts on those shoes that make her tall, "pain is beauty." So my friends, lets hope my curls come back even thicker this time. Until then, I'll proudly show off my lean figure that's often mistaken for pudge due to my hair.