Someone always wants my damn money. Apparently I had $192 of lab work done once. The insurance plan went from “Great, go to the doctor all you want, you beautiful hypochondriac” to “You have a $2,500 deductible.” I think the lab work was the “Is the baby a mutant?” test. Would I have gotten my money back if she were?
My Worst Elm order came today, and dang was that a production. They pack huge, cumbersome things in one box, even though that box contains pieces. But five curtain rods come in five separate boxes. Oh yeah. In the lobby, the UPS man got scared by a three-legged dog of my acquaintance. Who’s a pretty girl!! “Dogs hate the uniform,” he explained. Then we entertained the notion to heave the huge boxes through the window instead. We do not trifle with doors and walking long distances. We care not for hassle nor friendly dogs.
Now I have to go to the accountant to pay more money. Tomorrow a financial planner is coming over to tell us what to do with our no money. I hope he remembers to bring the glitter putty. I can’t financially plan without it. I am not making him any fucking coffee. He can walk over to Top Donut if he wants a coffee.