Last night, the Bitchy Resting Face Alexes, blonde et brunette, came over to help me put my costume together.
Okay," I said, "Well, I'll get wine."
"Oh, I have wine," she said.
There is something about me that makes people feel like they should just take over and handle all the details. Those feelings are correct.
And by the way, who did a concise job? When I cut the cheese, it looks like I just wielded the knife in some sort of rage. Oh, and also, how the HELL do you clean those kinds of burners? I've used dish soap and then resorted to Windex, but it always looks not clean. Plus also I burned a yogurt lid into that burner yesterday.
Wait, now why would a 25-year-old feel like she had to come over here and take charge?
Anyway, after much me watching everyone else do all the work, my costume is done.
Did I tell y'all what Ima be? I'll wait to demonstrate my whole look, but here's a subtle hint...
36! 24! 36!
I start out with 36, anyway.
So, after we'd (we) (36-24-36) slaved over my costume, I put the whole thing on top of the new wardrobe, thinking that was the safest place for it. At FIVE this morning, I heard
which is never a sound you want to hear when you have five pets. I got up, and there was that DAMN NedKitty on TOP of the wardrobe, with her 14-and-a-half-year-old dick self. I moved the damn costume.
When I came back to bed, Ned said, "What happened?"
"Your dick cat was attacking my costume." I floomped the pillows annoyedly.
"She got all the way up on the wardrobe?" asked Ned. Then I heard heeee-heeeee-heeee-heeeee. "I love that cat," he said.
And that is when I cockpunched them both.
Built, and knowing how to please,