. . . and the world may not beat a path to you door. But I will.
I wonder if she’d let me put screens on her windows.
And I fear that the amount of steel wool in the world is finite.
“Is there any chance,” I asked tonight, “that I could get you to store the birdseed off the floor?”
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Nah… betcha she don’t…
I’m getting less cooperation than I might hope for, since it was discovered that I threw away some valuable . . . stuff while she was out of town. I swear she’s about to drive me mad.