Pardon Me Mistress Satin Sue

Pardon me Mistress Satin Sue I said, but a baby pup is on your head. She gave me an aloof look that most distinctly and clearly said, “Leave me alone, you ingrate. Shovel yourself under the garden shed.” I was intrigued and excited, for she is notoriously fine, quite well-bred. Her satin gowns are a luxurious shade, rich in shadows, elegant too. Haughty like her, expensive for sure. I stood downhill and gave a coo. Fine, this woman of means, holding a rose under springtime dew. Put into my place by her arrogant look. She is elegant, Miss Satin Sue. She moved in a manner that swept romantical notions into the air. Her formidable spirit showed she had no worries, not a single care. Her bouffant hair was her pup, snoring in her pretty hair. She gave me an obvious stuck-up, condescending stare. Her pup began to stir, and she gave me a half ass smile. So maybe her mother side dials her haughty back on the dial. Could we ever become friends, this Virtue of Stuck Up-ness and me? Frankly, this is not a scenario that I can ever truly see.