Mildred stares into the bathroom mirror. The reflection feels like mockery. There, in the harsh antiseptic glare of the overhead lights, an awful truth consumes her: She does not play with the catnip jingle ball; the catnip jingle ball plays with her.
Whoa, that’s like deep and stuff, Sharon H.
“(Also, I really need to hit the treadmill.)”
New Year’s Resolution?
Oh, Mildred (my grandmother’s name, by the way): if it’s of any comfort to you in your existential crisis, I too am unable to sit in a sink without a roll of pudge hanging over the rim…
Deeep thoughts.
Yeah, me ‘n Mildred need to drop some lubs.
I’d say Ho Ho Ho but at this time of year that would probably confuse some folks.
Kar, are you … … …Santa?
Depends, would you like to meet my Saarlac in my sack?
? ✊??