Slim Daddy leaves on TUESDAY to go to CA for his new job. *I* will be here, with the Oompa Loompas and their antics. I can’t help but wonder that by the time the house sells if:
a. I will become an alcoholic with bottles of Patron hidden throughout the house, in the chandelier and under my pillow.
b. I will end up as a faded version of Sweet Charlotte, only locked away in some old crazy Southern Gothic Asylum with Baby Jane as the head cook.
c. I will take to rocking back and forth with glazed eyes, repeating to myself over and over “Ah lahk peach pah.”
d. I will get arrested on a nightly basis for running screaming from the house like a banshee on crack, ripping my hair out, tearing at my clothes and periodically howling at the moon.
e. All of the above.
Needless to say – I am telling my friends to call at least every other day so that they can make sure I answer the phone, and I am not tied up with duct tape in the basement being fed only dry cereal and curdled milk to drink by the Oompa Loompas.
