I get kitschy. Really. I do. But doesn’t this take the idea of kitschy a bit too far? Of course it doesn’t help that I really don’t like Chihuahuas. Or Dachsunds. I’ve only met mean ones. I’ve been bitten by more little rat dogs than I have by German Shepherds.
Granted, I was tempted to buy it. It’s so kitschy that it appeals to my sense of irony. It’d be like having a cow salt and pepper shaker holder. (But, really, who needs a salt and pepper shaker holder? Don’t they stand on their own? Just saying.)
