Carpet from Hell
They’re redoing the floor in my office. It’s true, it needs it. There’s a little rug in there, about six feet by six feet. I have never succeeded in getting all the dust out of it. When I step on it, little puffs of dust come out. I steam vacuumed it for hours, and the water in the bottom looked like some horrible sludge from the Mississippi River. As soon as it dried, it still poofed dust.
They’re promising me the new floor will be the envy of all the other Dinky Little Businesses when it’s done.
I asked them if it would help me get a date. Smirks. I get smirks in response. I wanted to ask Mr. Tubby McFloorPerson when was the last time anyone asked him out, but thought better of it at the last moment. I can only stand so much.
Should it be “pooves”, for the plural of “poof”? You know, like “hoof” and “hooves”, and “roof” and “rooves”? I should look that up. Another funny word is “octopus”. Even funnier is “octopuses”. Or is it “octopi”?
” “? he said, his curiousity plainly revealed in his arching eyebrows.
Or, ” “, he said with a longing to deep for words to express.
I love apostrophes. “.”
Back on Subject
So I know it needs it, but they’re messing with my little womb, the place I go to hide from the world. Serenity Now, Dammit!
I’m being chased out. More later. Tonight, I promise.