Bea and I had something that teetered on the edge of another argument, and despite some hurtful name calling, I compared myself to a Nazi before it could drastically escalate into another 4-day event, effectively ending the argument. We spent the rest of the day spamming The Management's Facebook about leggings and our wedding music. We did pretty well, but there's still needs to be some more Murder Ballads in there. Only a few people get to see how Bea and I interact quite as much as the Management. In fact, I'm willing to say that the only person who really gets to see us in our full glory is our mail men. We send each other some weird ass shit. I don't want to go too much into our old timey correspondence, for fear of taking the fore- out of Bea's -shadowing.
Hey, speaking of mail, I got some mail today. (Transitions are for chumps). Half of it was complete shit. That half was people kindly informing me that since I've recently risen above the poverty line, I have to give them money if I want to keep living in light. And at this time of year there is only about 37.45 minutes of sunlight, so I need electricity.
But, luckily, I got something else. Bea has been sending me postcards, and here's a sample of what's been coming in my post.
There is a signature on each one. This one is located above the silky smooth caramel of her sun kissed thigh. 
Franco is clearly a man who understands women. More on that later.
"The Curse of Millhaven" would make an amazing replacement for Wagner's "Bridal Chorus".
ReplyDeleteAlso, listening to Wagner's "Bridal Chorus" just now made me want to watch videos of abscess extraction, and that's gross.
ReplyDeletei won't walk down the aisle to anything other than stagger lee
ReplyDelete