Yesterday morning I had a giant size cup of BK skank coffee. It's like the muddy bitter bottom of a sludge pit. Ten o'clock pm rolls around and I'm all alive and alert. Snowflake went to bed but I was too excited.
I always said I would never have any of that tacky kids crap in my yard, especially since I have this really peaceful and cool pergola haven. It must have been my good nature and waxing nostalgic about childhood.
I began to search for a pirate playhouse for Snowflake. Actually, it began with a sandbox search and then I thought, I pick up enough dog shit without having to deal with the neighborhood army of wild cats that control the 'hood. Why would I want to put out a jumbo litter box for them?
There are some really amazing and cool playhouses out there for people with mega dinero. I wish I had a hunky helpful handyman willing to do a trade. Sexual favors for a playhouse. I thought, there should be a show like that, not staring me, but someone in their thirties called "This Old Whore". Let's see what she can get done to her love shack in a year's time by bartering her bod.
What was I thinking when I ordered him this? Maybe I was high. Maybe I was imagining myself as Rapunzel. In any case, it's cute, and relatively cheap compared with the one I wanted.
I'm tossing and turning, thinking about where I'm going to place this monstrosity, who's going to help me unload it from the back of the shipper's truck(end of truck delivery only) and who's going to help me erect this shrine of personal disgust. Should I plant a big hedge of Arbor Vitaes in front of it so I don't have to look at it? Should I drink margaritas in the tower after Snowflake is in bed? Smoke a fattie? Oh the possibilities.
Now I'm thinking, my friends didn't call me "Queenie" for nothing.
