I run my own business and part of this involves decorating and beautifying homes.  My mother is a beautician and I have often said that what she does for people's faces and bodies, I do for their homes.  I wish it were that simple.  I am sure she can relate a hundred horror stories about what goes on in her salon (quite a few I am sure that relate to hair removal) but nothing can be more nightmarish than dealing with decorating fiascos. 

I am in an industry that often caters to the rich and eccentric and these people certainly make my life… erm… interesting. Of all the strange scenarios I have faced, the one that seems to stick is this one:

Our usually unflappable receptionist Nicky was in a terrible flap when she finally got through to me.

"Oh Chanti, Thank God!  Mr. Higgins* just called.  He is in such a state and is threatening to sue us unless you call him right away?" she told me breathlessly.
"Oh heavens, what on earth is wrong?" I asked, my mind pondering all possibilities and finding nothing that could possibly warrant such an extreme reaction.
"I don't know Chants. He was totally hysterical and hyperventilating and I couldn't understand one word he was saying. Maybe you should just go there."

Wearily, I turned my car around and headed in the direction of Mr. Higgin's home. I decided to call before I arrived and dialled his number, the slight trembling of my hands revealed my trepidation.  This was one of my less demanding clients. He was as wealthy as many of the others and although he was obviously gay and very eccentric, he was usually quite reasonable and an affable character.  He had one obsession – his two dogs.  They were peculiar looking creatures and had exotic sounding names but I was told that they were thoroughbred champions and worth "thousands and thousands".

After I rang his number, I breathed a sigh of relief when he answered because although he did sound upset, he was not quite as hysterical as I had been led to believe.

"Mr. Higgins, I believe there is a problem at your home. What's up?"
"Chanti dahling, I am sooo relieved you called.  I have been absolutely beside myself and I was about to call the fire brigade and the police. My dear sweet Puffin is stuck to your wall and she simply cannot extricate herself.  I am afraid she is dreadfully upset and you know how delicate she is….."
"Puffin, your dog?  B...but...how on earth did she get stuck to the wall?  ....Oh, nevermind, I'm on my way Mr. Higgins. Hold tight"  I put the phone down and chuckled at my inappropriate choice of words.

When I finally arrived at the high gates of the grand residence in an exclusive and upmarket suburb in Sandton, Johannesburg, they opened instantly, almost as if someone had been waiting and watching out for me.  I noticed the close circuit TV camera above me and waved as I drove up the long driveway.  Indeed, somebody had been waiting.  Mr. Higgins was standing at the front door as I drove under the grand Porte Cochere.  I got out of my car but barely had a chance to greet him and he was off at a rapid pace ahead of me and so I chased after him, my high heels making sharp tapping noises on the creamy marble floors.  Shortly I was led to the cause of the great consternation and all my efforts were concentrated on not bursting out into hysterical laughter and I almost doubled over with the effort.  

From what I was able to piece together after talking to one of our supervisors, Puffin, his highly-strung pooch, had fallen asleep with her little body pressed against a new epoxy coating we had just applied to a wall in his house.  As the coating had hardened, her fur had become trapped and she had effectively become glued to the wall.  When she had awoke, all hell had broken loose.  Her yelps and 'screams' had alerted her besotted 'daddy' and this had precipitated the frantic call to our office. The pampered pooch was at this point trembling and whimpering piteously but the look of sheer horror on Mr. Higgins' face when I asked him for a pair of sharp scissors has been indelibly printed upon my memory.  I assured him that I would not cause any injury to his beloved 'child' but I have to admit that there has been no more pathetic sight than the creature I cut away from the wall.  Puffin was apparently due to compete in a competition and had recently been coiffed.  As my client stared dejectedly at his shorn pet, I stared in dismay at our newly completed wall coating, now sprouting "it's champagne dahling" tufts of fur.
 

* Names have been changed to protect my client's privacy