<<Try cradling the bowl with your left hand against your left side, four fingers curved round the bowl, and using your left thumb to hold the fork handle steady against the side of the bowl, while you let the bottom of the fork rest in the bowl.>>
Hand too big. Fork in way. Can, however, hold fork and bowl in same hand, like human probably.
BTW, I have lost Too Many clothes of cotton to The Devil. All, my clothes, well, 99.9999999999999 per cent, are cotton. How many garments do I have? How much will they shrink, at 450 degrees, with an air change rate of 36 per hour?
(Anyway, just re-living some of the seventh grade that REALLY PISSED ME OFF.)
Uhm, we wash in warm (at the warmest) and haul everything out of low heat when it is just barely not wet as hell, and hang everything up. All over the place. From beds, blinds, light fixtures, TV antennae, specially perforated smoke detectors, spider webs and moth wings and six hundred pushpins. Don't use the wooden chairs, for chrissake. Or the Craftsman floor lamps. Why should I have to tell you this stuff? Use your head, for Pete's sake.
You have to hang the stuff up anyway, right? Live in your closet. Like a one room, woodstove cabin.
A lot is done for this Pete guy. Where is he? Haven't we walked on eggs long enough for him?
He's probably in the pool. Outside Indian Wells. (Come to think of it, my broker's name is Pete.) I say we go find this guy, beat the crap out of him and get some of our stuff back.
I give my other clothes I ruin or turn red to MJ. She's hand-me-down smaller. Well, wash it once more in hot water smaller.
I just turned a brand new batch of rugs pink-red, washing Fui out of them. She has an incontinence problem. (NO, I have an incontinence problem.) Or else she has an attitude problem, and it's hard to tell, because of the way she treats me. She really scratches and growls. "She Does Not Like" being held hostage over a tinkle-y rug and told what to do. Gee. Neither do I.
MJ and I were in the laundry room last week, and she tells me, "I use my toe to check and see if I can pull the rug this way a little bit before I step on it." To see if Fui has stuck it down to the linoleum. See whether it will slide; or has been watered. She tells me that while I'm standing on it ~ getting rugs ready for the wash ~ she tells me, with a little illustration; a delicate, tippy-toe maneuver. She looks up at me, to see if I'm paying attention to her little test-the-waters test. She doesn't realize I'm about to throw her out.
It's just like Fui to get too lazy to go out. "It's raining!"
"Tough shit!!"
"Tell and adult, Fui!"
"I'm scratching my balls for ya baby!"
I threw her out in the rain about an hour ago, and goddamit I enjoyed it. Why should I ruin rugs because of her? Huh? WHO the hell is SHE?
What am I going to do with a red tan-and-white cotton rug? I KNOW ~ You know what's going to happen to it?? It's going to go into a cat box. ~ SHE WINS!!
BITCH.
I HATE THEM.
Goddam cats. They really bug me. I'm not kidding. The orange one is on the bed, right now, snoring. A really gross, "I'm 18 and congested" snore. An "I can barely suck air through the cooties" snore. I have to kick the top of her head to wake her up, when I can't stand it anymore. The fur inside her front legs is all rotted and wet and stinky because she has a little "licking" problem she hasn't licked yet. She takes ahold of a bunch of fur and pulls until it comes out. Then licks the adjacent fur til it's brown. MJ just came home and is yelling at her to "Stop that!" (That was the cat MJ got. NOT the one I wanted.)
She (the cat, of course)slinks up to me, ever so stealthily ~ I mean, Iroquois ~ and crawls under my legs while I'm not looking. Which is pretty much all the time. When I put them down, she shrieks and squawks like a duck in a sack, scaring the heaves out of me. This happens about three to five x a day. Then when you try to pick her up, for extradition, (if you can do it without her biting you), she hooks all twenty claws into the bedspread ~ they work good for naked wet furless legs ~ and if you keep pulling up that spread toward the middle, you're going to rip big holes in it. Tent pegs. Twenty flexible tent pegs. Goddam 'em!! You have to detach the paws one at a time, lifting at such an angle as to keep them from re-hooking, (don't get your head down in there to look) while she's biting and hissing and growling and scratching and snorfing through goo. And she's sticking to you. Sticking whatever that caramel colored stuff is. That stinky stuff.
Sometimes MJ comes home and says something like, "These guys are a annoying!"
"I LIVE HERE!!"
We had about .6 inches today.
Of rain.
About .000009 inches of cat tinkle.
Tinkle and sprinkles.
"Sprinkles, turning into laundry."
"My Life Pisstory."
~ a Proud Pet Owner |
