Exceptionally imperfect. It’s all I want. This a special low bar setting, don’t you think? I like special. You may leave me alone and I will have already fallen down. No worries. There are parts which work well rolling on the floor. He knows them. Not like her. Did you hear her screaming. The window was ajar like the door–not as welcoming. I’m quite certain a few vocal sobs hit the birds below. What was it she was crying about this time? Oh yea, wrinkles. How she just can’t do it anymore. Hell, who can? You know what I mean, right? I say this but it does nothing to move her mind. Is she dying alive? There are no silent places to hide when you know all the rooms in your home. She’s always crying and not even rolling on the floor like some of us. That’s uplifting is it not? I mean what do you think? Does she expect her big plasma screen to extend its little curving arms and whisper Hallmark hucksterisms into her sobbing eyeballs? She’s screaming at the wrinkles. Oh well, let me suck this up. I can empathize a bit. Cotton shirts from the dryer. Impossible to smooth out like baby’s asses once they leave the store hangers. 100% algodon shirts shit wrinkles! Ironing is nearly as horrifying as cooking. Maybe I should be the one crying. There is also moaning that comes with her crying. We won’t get into that now. I reserve my moaning for the most special of occasions when doors are closed.
I do want to wish those who celebrate, a Happy Fourth. It is my grandma’s birthday, July 4. She could have painted her skin with stars beneath beaded fringe and knee length dresses. Maybe Heaven has a tattoo parlor and a vintage dress shop. I do so adore a firecracker backdrop when my head is on the pillow dreaming of Mr. Key and locked doors. Both shops and doors closed for holidays and moaning.
Somewhere in the world, this fella once rowed people to party island. I thought him absolutely inspirational and painted his likeness. Captains are so freakin’ cool:)