Oh, didn’t see you there.  You’ve got to stop scaring me like that. I almost spilled my Dr Pepper.  A girl’s Dr Pepper is sacred.  Kind of like a dude and his, say, car.  You can have your car. I just need my Dr Pepper. And this chair. And the remote control.  And I don’t need anything else. Except my dog.  I really do need my dog.  And that’s all I need. 

Oh, what I came in here about. The package arrived!  It’s at the house.  A little smaller than expected?  I’m gonna need to borrow someone’s car. 

This had better not be some elaborate tale. I hate liars. This could ruin, oh, I knew something would screw up my latest escape plan.  I will not live under the same roof as a fucking liar. 

I won’t.  Oh, by the way, I have a truck, so I don’t need anyone’s car. Notice how I fessed up on that within the same blog I said I needed it in?  I’m a tease, not a fucking liar, sooo.

Anyway, the package.  I’m talking with customer service and T sounds like they shipped what I ordered, so hopefully all’s well. See ya tomorrow.  Not you.  



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