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.