I had to buy a pet product today. I have no actual pets – or imaginary ones for that matter. I had to buy said product for myself. It’s a new low.

I had to buy the “Furemover Broom” for “people who love pets.” It’s a broom/squeege with short rubber bristles that grabs pet fur and lifts it out of carpet. Or, in my case, people fur. The package shows two happy golden retrievers next to three floor surfaces so entirely covered in fur that their lower halves, conveniently out of frame, must’ve been shaved and sprinkled about like fairy dust.

Or perhaps they’re just afflicted with my condition.

I have long hair that falls out to such an alarming degree that you’d think I was the poster child for Rogaine. It falls into the carpet and wraps itself around the pile like cockleburs. And then, late at night, it multiplies. Like disease in a petri dish, it spreads out and takes over until I have to go to my local broom store and pretend I own 14 dogs.

“Yes, yes. Pet hair is a major problem for me. I run a rescue shelter for Persian cats...Persian cats with a follicle condition. Yes, yes. Very sad.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a flea collar that’s just my size.