Whose fault do you think this is? Has some annoying kitten finally discovered the joy of unrolling toilet paper? Has some idiot dog torn it down with his or her front flea teeth, all delicate-like?
eff off. rodger eatin'.
Perhaps ripping toilet paper makes a kitty hungry. Those felines tend to be in cahoots about everything, so I blame them both.
Oh, and I have been meaning to AAAAACKKKKK!
Really. Even you know the coffee pot is going to beep at this point and you don't live here. When Ima get past it?
Anyway, I have been meaning to tell you. The other day I looked in the car next to me, because I wanted to glare at the driver over there, as she had done something stupid earlier and now I forget what. The reason I forget WHAT is because when I glared in there? With my frightening "You've annoyed June" glare?
The person in the car was talking on a purple toy phone.
I am not even making this up. It was plastic, and had a twisty cord, and was one of those old-fashioned handley things like we used to talk into way back in the '80s. WAY BACK. (It feels like last week.)
Like a handle like this. I do not know why I can't drop the subject of what specific kind of device she was talking into. I guess I was just excited I could get up and photograph my retro phone. Also, why am I keeping my broken coffeepot over on the counter, there? What's the point? I'm like my Uncle Leo when he wore two watches because one was broken.
But could we get back to the subject at hand? Which is the damn crazy lady next to me with the purple toy phone?
We had been at a red light, but of course then I had to catch up to her to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, as I do. Nope. Middle-class-looking woman in a fancy car, by herself, talking on a purple toy phone.
Oh, how I wish I knew the story of what happened with THAT nutbar when she got home. Perhaps she was phoning home.
That is all I have to tell you, except that my neighbor came over last night and you know what irks the crap out of me? Is when someone knocks on my door or my phone rings the minute I get home. Nevertheless, my neighbor had a huge bowl of tomatoes she had grown and was giving them away.
Not Peg. You guys think the only neighbors I have are Peg and the dead lady. This is a woman a few doors down, next to the serial killer guy who had 87 trees and a long ZZ Top beard and who never comes outside except on trash day. Her name (tomato lady, not ZZ Top guy) is Mimi and she has a bulldog and is divorced. I like her.
The point is, I had me a tomato sandwich for dinner, and then I sliced a tomato and put some olive oil and balsamic vinegar on it, and at about 9:00 I had ANOTHER tomato with just pepper. Looking forward to the canker sores.
If I get some, I'll call you on my toy phone.