Hey Taur-Babe, want to do some dancing in the sheets?
Today at high noon after getting back from Home Depot with C and a lot of mortar, K asked me what my sign is – I said what? – your sign, I bet you are a Leo. No, I said increduously (not at his lack of zodiac radar but at the question itself), I’m not a Leo. “A Scorpio,” he said. “No, not a Leo or Scorpio, not even close,” and I’m thinking I can’t believe I am having this conversation on the front steps of the LaLa with the “dead animal” smell that is coming from the trash pile in front (J was in jail let’s not forget) and I turned to get in my truck and he said well? and I said Taurus, okay, I’m a Taurus. “Ahhh,” he said rolling his eyes back in his head, with some sort of nirvana look washing over him.
Maybe I should tell K that I sometimes dye my pubic hair so the rug matches the drapes, and of course, I might add that is when there is anything to dye – you think the work at the LaLa would go faster, harder?
What’s your sign, little girl?