Don'T Be Mad Honey
Try to keep up Dear ones. I like to set the tone nice and early in the morning, at 2:30 or a quarter to three, the very latest number four.
Which means sneaking up on Joe, my only husband, whom I challenge minutely, making him jump every direction, which he often professes to deplore.
On this kind of mood-blowing I hate everyone day, which includes you and you and her and him, and maybe my cousin Lou that no one wants any more.
He is usually in the bathroom at a quarter past three, standing at attention, at the not-clean porcelain toilet-loving-head.
I sneak into his outer sanctuary, quietly, soundlessly, my little surprise soon to be discovered, standing stealthily, waiting just beyond the corner of his little seeing head.
He always screams like a goat who has had too much meth the night before when I come into his sight, which makes him shout and cuss, and yell off his little scared-E-head.
I always think, is this the day Joe is going to have a little heart attack , my soulmate, the man who did not even make a sandwich in year’s past.
But, God love him, his teeny subconscious must always know it’s me, because he always stomps back to bed, with a big fat pout that can hardly be surpassed.
Yes he’s Patty Duke Austin mad, in the Helen Keller story, on the TV. IN the 60’s. He’s mad, angry, and cussing, which pleases me in every single way, telling you how he has enraged me in the past.
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