Norwegian Bachelor Farmer Days I Never Lived

Norwegian bachelor farmer days I never lived Woebegone and egg foo young on you meaning me of course sidestepping a crucial positive electric kool aid battery acid test prior to pledging troth, and tying Gordian knot to strangulation point, never fending for myself, nor being disaster about to happen. I did house/pet sit when parents went away on their time sharing vacation minimally satisfyingly jump/ kick starting, placating, compensating for dashed unwed state offering smattering of taste regarding all those unrealized golden (gated) opportunities. Case in point conducting, honoring, liberating unstinting pyromaniac kindling burning man within me continuously aggravating, enraging, and inflaming Lower Providence fire department. When roaring towering inferno crept frightfully close to nearby houses, yours truly banked on his guardian angel rescuing me as smoldering tinder spread like... what else wildfire. The dolled guise firewoman incarnate none other than Mary Poppins, who still appeared rather gracefully slick (especially during rainy weather) at 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London England could pull off cheap trick or think super tramping Glinda protagonist courtesy film Wizard of Oz Good Witch of the North ruler of the Quadling Country South of the Emerald City, and protector of Princess Ozma riding her reo speedwagon at light speed in nick of time (in case of flat tire) she will travel on her state of the art broomstick, but unfortunately said courteous wonder women long since retired though the former still residing in her dotage at the Banks residence, nevertheless in an emergency either one or the other willingly avail themselves providing freelance capering constituting steep consulting fee services while comfortably holed up in their respective bailiwick. After extinguishing blaze, she and her sidekick The Cat In The Hat, who just showed up out of thee blue (flame) briefly secretly conferred before delivering merriment to drudgery of housekeeping chores training, loosing, and applying their joint secret powers both as domestic facilities managers. They gingerly launched, pitched, tackled traditional domestic disaster, with collective snap, crackle, and pop of handy dandy magic fingers before disappearing themselves. A sudden whoosh rectified messy living quarters overflowing with countless generations well fed healthy energized dust bunnies automatically relegated and swept into dustbin suppressing urge to boastfully brag to nobody in particular. Whistling while I worked yours truly simultaneously cooked gourmet cuisine excelling serving culinary house special of the day, qua charcoal brisket ala burnt offerings, potchkying, scalding yours truly courtesy untimely uncovering pressure cooker, or weathering comedy of errors flipping upside down all's well that ends well, or experiencing severe irreparable psychological trauma, vis a vis creating hell's kitchen house of horrors, mortal mishaps, world wide webbed series of unfortunate events, or shenanigans deemed rite of passage including indulging sybaritic life linkedin with living single fancy free and footloose, thus imperative for this bard to compensate aforementioned loss postulating poetically prevaricating potschking as chef boyardee envisioning, speculating, ruing laundering with excess detergent feigning enjoying drowning, actually playfully wallowing within sea of bubblicious sudsiness, Spongebob Squarepants would die for (unless he happens tubby in Darfur, no particular rhyme nor reason), while there purchasing for this unassuming devil who wears prada mine surprise constituting red badge of courage surviving helter skelter welter trials and tribulations knowing I got true grit (courtesy powder milk biscuits) accruing commensurate valuable salient raw bits self survival skills unexpectedly apprenticed with a book deal.