We are at the very end of Wednesday, the middle of week or the 'hump' in this particular measure of time. Nothing much to report. Someone is trying to flog Underground Toys era Solus dolls and people want to buy them. Good for them. There's always somebody, somewhere making money from Little Apple Dolls. If you meet any of them, send them my way so I can learn how.
Er...let's see what else? No hate mail or death threats. It was sunny today so I put the washing out to dry. Next door's cat stared me down the entire time. He doesn't like me. The feeling is mutual, my friend. I've named him Boots Lafleur. It's the most badass name I could think of. The other day I caught him sucker-punching the other cat. Ginger Mcfiddles. Mcfiddles didn't have a chance. That's what happens when your owner feeds you fois gras and you spend all day lying in the sun admiring your caticure (that's a pedicure for cats... I made that word up. That cat is posh though.) My underwear has pink flamingos on them but they are so faded they look like giant mice with long legs. I miss the Paralympics. 11 days of amazing. Why can't it be every two years? Tomorrow I will see if I can leave the house to get some sewing stuff for a custom from Queen's Market. I ran out of blue thread.
Tune in next week for another exciting installment of: Urie: Thirty-Something and Loving It.