Free I'm Not Gonna Lie by George Lopez Page A

forehead; then she coughed and her raspy voice came back again. She opened her eyes and scanned our faces. She stared into my girlfriend’s eyes. “It was a freak thing, wasn’t it? Unexpected. The dog was so young. A puppy.”
    My mouth dropped open like a trapdoor. I thought, “How does she know this? Puppies don’t usually die. We never said one word to her.”
    â€œWas she in any pain?” my girlfriend asked her.
    â€œNo, no, none at all. She just said, ‘Shocked me as much as it did you.’”
    â€œBut no pain?” my girlfriend said.
    â€œNo. But. Oh. Aha.” The pet psychic scrunched her forehead again.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œI see her again,” the pet psychic said. “She said . . . Wait . . . Okay, I got it. . . . She said that she did not like being dressed up.”
    My girlfriend let out a small scream.
    The pet psychic raised her head and looked up into the ceiling. She frowned. “I see clothes. A lot of clothes. Tiny clothes. Piles of tiny clothes. I see a teeny pink dress and pink hat.”
    â€œI put that on her for her birthday,” my girlfriend said, then turned to me. “She looked adorable, didn’t she?”
    â€œOh, yes. Yes, she did. Absolutely. Very cute.”
    â€œI thought she liked that outfit,” my girlfriend said.
    â€œApparently not so much,” I said.
    â€œThe clothes choked her,” the pet psychic said.
    My girlfriend grabbed herself around her midsection. She looked stricken. “Is that why she got sick? From the clothes? Tell me it wasn’t from the clothes.”
    â€œShe didn’t get sick from the clothes,” the pet psychic said. “She just felt uncomfortable. The clothes were too tight.”
    â€œThat sounds right,” I said. “I get very uncomfortable when my pants are too tight. But I can undo them because I have thumbs. I can even take them off. The dog? No.”
    I shook my head sadly.
    â€œI didn’t realize. . . .” My girlfriend’s voice trailed off.
    â€œShe had a lot of clothes,” I said to the pet psychic. “That’s true. A lot of tight-fitting clothes.”
    My girlfriend frowned at me. “Did you ever think her clothes were on too tight? Did she ever look uncomfortable to you?”
    I squirmed in my seat. I tried to catch the pet psychic’s eye, but she was staring off, avoiding me. I looked back at my girlfriend. “To tell you the truth, a couple of times I thought the dog didn’t really dig it when you put clothes on her.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œWell, okay, when I put the Lakers jersey on her, she seemed cool, relaxed, comfortable. But when you put on that tight dress, the pink one, or that hoop skirt, or those snug little capri pants, she would just sit there. She never moved. She would not move at all. When you turned away, she gave me a look that said, ‘Take this off me.’”
    My girlfriend folded her arms. “She did not.”
    â€œShe did. You could see it in her face. ‘I hate this outfit. Take it off me.’ You could see it in her eyes.”
    My girlfriend shot me a look that could kill, then looked past me out the window. “You never said a word.”
    â€œI’m telling you now. It’s a little late; I grant you that. I was going to say something the next time you put on the tight clothes, but then, you know, she got sick, and then . . .”
    The pet psychic slowly swiveled her head and looked into my eyes. She held her gaze on me, gave me a ferocious stare. “She wants to talk to you,” she said.
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYes. She has something important to say.”
    â€œReally? I’m surprised. I mean, we liked each other, we got along great, but we weren’t close.”
    My girlfriend elbowed me.
    â€œI’m open. I’ll listen. What does she want to tell