To the sixtyish man wearing a trucker hat and no nonsense expression sitting on a stoop that I passed this morning, the one with a cigarette stuck on his lip, smoke curling into his eye, the one with a clear plastic bag of poo in one hand and a leash attached to a tiny apricot poodle in the other. I hear you, man. Sometimes dogs are really a bit much.
And to the woman with the long bleached blonde hair and abrupt bangs struggling to get a toilet into her compact car, I sympathize. Not every day is as glamorous as we might like.