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Jules Duels With The Growlers

March 13, 2019 9:22am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 18 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Do you know what? Sometimes everything gets right on my nerves. I feel like I’m permanently on the edge of going a bit psycho. I looked up the symptoms of a nervous breakdown and it appears I’ve been having one for about 25 years.  

There’s no real reason for this other than my own inability to just be. And refuse to accept that ‘This is the way things are’ or, refuse to ‘Do things the conventional way’ or to accept that ‘You just can’t change some things.’

Can’t do it. 

Is this because I have a vagina?

The Monologues

As fortune would have it, one of my friends was directing this old favourite at my local, small-town theatre and suggested I come and see it one night. I didn’t know if I’d cope very well with the material but decided it would be an experience. I’m always a bit dubious of anything pro-feminist that could have no basis in real feminism whatsoever. This vaginal-venture would either make me even more recalcitrant or cure me of my present unnecessary hysteria. It’s a bit like trying goat yoga – you just don’t know if you’re overstepping boundaries or opening new doors. 

I bought two tickets and then contemplated at length which friend I’d take with me. I have an eclectic range of pals and it had to be someone who would give me a rational and sound opinion of the show afterward in case it did my head in. After some careful consideration, I chose a very right-wing businesswoman who is gay but hates lesbians. I figured this was as balanced as I was going to get and would provide me with fair insight. 

“Do you think they’ll say the C word?” she asked.

“What? Clitoris?” 

“No! The real one!” 

“I don’t know, but the way I’m feeling of late, I might.”

Coochie Snorcher

Was one of the words used to name the vagina which I found quite playful. I think Victoria’s Secret or Anne Summers should produce a line of exotic panties and call them this as it sounds rebellious, fancy, and a little bit filthy which might appeal to guys.

“Oi, darlin’, ya got those Coochie Snorchers on tonight, eh eh?” 

I can hear that line going down at the pub after a few pints to some fair game.  If you made them edible and taste like bacon you’d be on to a winner.  

Just a thought.

Another part of the show that I found amusing was this: 

“The clitoris is simply a bundle of nerves: 8,000 nerve fibres, to be precise. That is twice…twice…twice the number in the penis. Who needs a handgun when you’ve got a semiautomatic”

Parts of the evening made me dreadfully uncomfortable and I had to take my cardigan on and off a few times when I got hot and bothered; and not in a good way. Some of it was very funny, and some of it sad and moving. But mostly, it was weirdly interesting.

Did I enjoy it, is the question…

The friend who directed the show asked me this and my reply was, “I think it’s made me much more vagina confident.” 

Which is true. I would never say that word out loud before but now I’m doing it on purpose, randomly, because it makes people flinch. I find that being obnoxious and inappropriate is helping a lot with my irritability. 

International Women’s Day

This came up on the same week. Again, not something I pay attention to but I’m currently acknowledging “Special Days” for a marketing project and this was one of them. However, it has to be said that some kind of magical unity takes place on this day between women that doesn’t usually.

Women, in my opinion, tend to fail each other on so many levels. A woman is the first to judge you on your appearance, the first to find your insecurities, the least likely to support your endeavours or like your profile pic, the first to bag your bloke, and the first to call you names behind your back and kiss you on the cheek with the same bitter lips moments after.  It’s called biological competition.  And this has, and will, continue to happen to all women, at some time. 

Unless, of course, it’s your female besties or family who will protect you with a sisterhood that knows no fear or bounds when necessary. Although, they will still have committed one or more of the above sins at some point because we are all a bunch of insecure bitches. It baffles me and yet I understand why it happens. 

But, on International Women’s Day, the support is palpable. Truly. 

The following day, it’s all over and we revert to type: Sally will be telling Tracey that Sarah looks a slut in her new top from Zara that she’s too fat for and, oh-by-the-way, it totally doesn’t match her inferior lipstick. 

Men do not behave like this with each other.  

Nor do they wear lipstick.

Or have vaginas. 

Sit Your Chirper on the Chair, Chicken!

Still feeling somewhat fractious after my long week of bedlam, bitches, and beavers, I decided to go out for a coffee yesterday morning to meet some work colleagues. Sara Blizzard (our local BBC weatherwoman) had just wound me up with more news of hail/snow/sleet/rain/and 70 MPH winds all in the space of a day. The fact her surname is Blizzard and she’s a weather girl makes me smile and want to puke at the same time. That’s an example of a  woman taking the easy road and not trying to think outside the box.  

I got blown into Costa Coffee by the ferocious wind and found my posse already doing the crossword at a table.

I put my wet, cold finger on the puzzle grid and said, 

1 Across: LOSERS

2 Down: ENEMIES

3 Across: VAH – GYYYYYYYY -NAH!

“Sit down! What do you want to drink?”

“Something strong, dark and masculine. But with a touch of sprinkle. I need to find balance before I tip over.  I’m on the flippin’ edge today, AGAIN! I don’t know what’s up with me but one more thing and it’s going to get proper nasty. I can tell.” 

A few minutes later, warming up nicely with a group of sensible, level headed people, and a coffee away from the throng of madness, I started to feel a bit better. Quietly and systematically we began to complete the puzzle in the paper and discuss upcoming projects.  Nice. Pleasant. Soothing. Right up until a woman at a table next to us kept getting up and down like her arse was on fire.  

Up down, up down, up down.  

I looked over at her. She seemed like a regular sort but obviously wasn’t.  

I looked at my group.

“Just leave it alone,” someone said.

I tried. Really hard. But through my peripheral vision, I could see her Jack-in-the-box-ing constantly and it started to irk the hell out of me. A visceral dislike took hold.

“Somebody make her stop cos if she gets up again I’m going to take her chair away and then pin her to the floor with it.” 

Thank God, because He saved her life. In that very second, as my friends took my hands, very tightly I might add, the Tigger in tights was greeted by her pal rushing in. 

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was a nightmare!”

So’s your friend… I whispered. I WHISPERED. OK?!

“Oh, I’ve been up and down looking for you because I left my phone at home…”

and brain…. I whispered.

“And didn’t want to think I’d missed you, missed a call or a text….”

or missed your seat, oops too late …I whispered.

 “Now we can relax and have a coffee!” she giggled.

And then I noticed her name. Written on her cup.  Written in bold, black ink by the resident barista. It was like Karma was mocking me. You’ll never guess what it was.  Never.  

“GINA”

If only I’d had a Sharpie pen….

You Say Tomato, I Say Something Else

February 27, 2019 12:40pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 14 Comments

River scene with water depth

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On Wednesday!

Early this morning I decided I wasn’t going to write a blog post because I didn’t really have anything whimsical to talk about.  The weather is so glorious that I’ve been making the most of it by spending quality time outside. Today is apparently the last day of sunshine before a cold front wafts in from the Atlantic and puts pay to any dreams of drinking Pimms in the garden at the weekend, so I chose to give whimsy a miss and head out early to a beautiful village for breakfast. 

Flashy Trips and Traps

This particular village is known for its abject snobbery and allegedly boasts more millionaires per capita than any other place in the UK. I like to go and lower the tone a bit and marvel at the things the villagers give away to charity shops because they don’t know how to wash, sew or mend. 

I jumped in my car and drove down the beautiful country roads as the sun sparkled through the semi-clad, blossomed branches.  It’s at times like this that you wish you’d remembered to locate your sunglasses that are somewhere at a bottom of a scuzzy beach bag from last years holiday. Couldn’t see a bloody thing which is somewhat dangerous as everybody and his sodding bike were out pretending to be fit and healthy. And, it seems to be that at every twist and turn in the road, the sun hits you from the side like someone switching a light on and off at rapid speed and you wonder if this is the day you get an attack of epilepsy and die. 

Don’t Go Green

I turned on the radio as I hit the bypass to find it was question and answer time. This is something I’ve never heard before because I’ve usually got my tunes on, but blind and beset with straggling cyclists meant two hands were needed on the wheel and fishing for my Spotify playlist was not an option.  I listened as the presenter read out obscure questions from The Great British Public that were answered by the resident radio panel who clearly don’t get out enough.  

“Why do we have so much snot?” asked some bright spark.

Seriously?  

Obviously, I had to hear the answer to such a ridiculous question though I wish I hadn’t.  Into great detail they went about the wonders of mucus, how the nose acts as a humidifier and why green snot is actually as healthy as the contents of a bottle of Yakult.  I wanted to throw up and wished the shittiest day ever on the person who had sent this question in and killed any notion of me having the breakfast Deli Stack. Ripe green avocado and runny egg rapidly lost its appeal. 

Deli – Ware

I arrived at the fabulous little delicatessen on the cobbled street and went inside. The place is very small with rickety old wooden furniture and eclectic china teacups. Endearing in that quirky British way but a pain in the arse when your teapot falls over because the table is wonky.  I ordered some crispy pancetta with vine tomatoes on sourdough and sat at the nearest available table adorned with a couple of fresh cut flowers in an old milk bottle and a collection of sugar lumps in a Victorian china bowl. All very pleasant apart from the pair of women sat next to me.  I don’t know what it is about some people that makes them think that everyone in the room wants to hear what they’re saying.  We don’t.  Especially when it’s in a whiny, stuck-up, affected tone – the kind you might save for meeting someone’s parents or for pretending you’re smarter than you really are, except they talk like that all the time.  And you want to hit them with a bat. 

Then another one of their village friends popped into the shop to pre-order some sandwiches for lunch because people here don’t do common tasks like this on their own. 

“Oh, darling!  You look so well!” one of them declared to the woman who had entered in white slacks, boating shoes, a French striped t-shirt and a hand-crafted, leather satchel hanging from her shoulder. “I thought you were still away!”

“Oh, hello, darling. Just back and ever so busy as we’re having our website re-designed today and  the photographers are coming.”

“Oh, such fun!  Where was it you went away to?”

“Ski-ing, in the French Alps. The five-star chalet was superb and we had an absolute blast!”

No. No, you didn’t. You can’t even make a bunch of sarnies, you lightweight. 

To make matters worse the pair beside me were planning a trip to London online from their crystal embellished smartphones and were baffled as to why the ticket price was £44 but doubled at the basket checkout for a return.  It took ages for them to figure this out and I very nearly snatched the phone from them and paid it myself in the hope that they’d sod off. 

The waitress brought my breakfast plate and laid it before me. “Any sauce?”

“No thanks.  Very acidic today.”

I tried to concentrate on my food but their loud and irritating voices continued to reach new heights setting all my nerves on edge.  I cut into one of the fancy baby tomatoes that were still on the vine a little too harshly and the damn thing exploded covering my brand new white shirt in tomato juice and seeds.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I exclaimed loudly.  

And that was it.  Silence.  Breakfast in peace.  That was all I had to say. 

National Love Your Pet Day

February 20, 2019 4:31pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 24 Comments

 

Picture of a Uromastyx on a film set

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

If you want a pet then get a gerbil. Or a cat. Even a zebra. Because having a lizard is a lot more complicated than it might seem. Especially if you own one that is the future guardian of the planet. There’s a lot of stress that comes with that level of responsibility.

Loving Your Pet

Uromastyx lizard

If anyone should win an award for this day then it’s me. On Friday night when everybody else was out revelling, I sat in front of my laptop on lizard forums. For hours.

Why?

Because I need to get a life. I used to have one before Kevin.

Thing is, Kevin, I noticed, hadn’t had a poo for a month. At first, I thought this was because of brumation which is a bit like hibernating but not. A better word might be lazy. He will sleep for four days and maybe come out for one.  A lot more lethargy is at play during the winter months. Sometimes he eats, sometimes he can’t even be arsed to do that, and will just stick his head out of his cave for twenty minutes and then sod off back to bed. We are currently working on his social skills.  

A lizard like godzilla

I noticed his tummy getting fatter and very firm and figured that this wasn’t right. But what do I know?  Despite reading a book on his kind, I’m new to this lizard game. He could be dehydrated, right?  But how do you bloody well deal with that when my type of lizard doesn’t drink water?!  Seriously. When I first heard this fact I had to go and triple check because what kind of animal doesn’t drink?  

Kevins’ get their water from their leafy green food.  Water can kill them and cause respiratory failure. Dear. God. Honestly, it’s such a complex never-ending labyrinth of husbandry that you need a degree in Lizzy Lingo. 

Lizard Needs To Lose His Lunch

Lizard post apocalyptic

I eventually found out that a lizard not defecating after a week is very serious. A lot of them die from impaction.  

Kevin cannot die. 

Not only do I take animal welfare very seriously, but I also love that little lizard. 

Taking him to the vet wasn’t really an option because not many vets deal with exotic pets. Maybe if you had a snake or a bearded dragon you might be OK but there aren’t many that deal with the rare and complicated Uromastyx. Course not. Besides, how is a vet going to make a lizard take a dump? 

I spent hours talking to various breeders, exotic pet specialists, and vets via the chat function on “I own a crazy pet” sites and the conclusion was this:

Change his sandy floor for birdseed ( no sunflower or oil seeds – sigh) because sand, even though he’s from the desert and that’s what they tell you to use, causes impaction if digested.  And bath him.

Bath. Him. 

A Crash Course In Lizardry

Lizard in front of a building

Have you ever bathed a lizard? Not that kind…

I hardly slept the night before worrying myself sick and got up several hours before the pet shop opened. By 9.22 am I had been to several shops because of, don’t even get me started, the many variations of sodding bird seed.  

And, how stupidly expensive it is if it’s to look like a shale beach in Kevin’s Kingdom!

Then a suitable Tupperware container was found and filled with warm water (hand hot – very specific)  ready to bath him.

For starters, I had to wake him up. He really doesn’t take kindly to that and if a Uromastyx tail sideswipes you, you bleed. I had his tub ready on my office table with an infrared heat lamp above it because the temperature is key. I used to have a normal lamp like regular people. One with an everyday 60-watt bulb in for reading, but not anymore. Kevin is a life changer. 

Kevin wasn’t impressed about having a bath and instantly tried to drown himself by sticking his head under water. That’s really useful considering the Uromastyx water issue. For the love of God.

Then he kept trying to leap out. A suicidal- drowning- frantic- leaping lizard.  I can’t begin to tell you how insanely difficult this exercise was.  

“Gently rub your lizard’s flanks as you bathe him in warm water for at least half an hour” quoted somebody who has never, EVER bathed a lizard. 

Kevin then went into his carrying box under heat whilst his vivarium sand got removed and replaced with bird seed. Once all good and ready, I moved him to his basking spot in his house because, despite all this effort, nothing had happened. 

And what did he do? He began to eat his floor.  Brilliant. It’s a bit like changing a kids bedroom carpet for Skittles. The last thing I wanted him to do was to eat even more food in a big fat belly with no room. 

The Kingdom is Saved

Uromastyx on a film set with fire

And then… 

I’ve never seen anything like it. I kid you not. 

Kevin gave birth to a shit the size of a baby lizard. How he didn’t rip himself in half I’ll never know. 

But I did it. I saved Kevin. And you can all rest easy. 

Mother of Dragon

The Story Behind The Picture

February 13, 2019 6:48pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 17 Comments

Creative mixed media post

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

I took a couple of photos this week as I was out and about in the land of hope and glory, and I’d like to tell you a little bit about them.

You see, there’s a lot more to just the photograph that’s sitting there in front of you. Oh yes. Oftentimes a viewer doesn’t realise the stress and trauma a picture taker has to go through but I’m here to tell you all about that. 

Waiting for God

Example 1: Bloke sat outside the church on a bench. 

Man sitting on bench outside church

Sometimes, I just like to have a wander around outside because the architecture and doors are marvellous and I have a peculiar thing for doors, as you well know. 

Anyway, I had my new Osmo Pocket with me as I wanted to test out its 3×3 photographic ability and quality. It’s a very teeny-tiny gadget and the viewing screen is hard to read but there’s an adapter that allows you to plug it into your smartphone thus using the phone as the screen touch window making it easier to see. So that’s what I was doing – wandering around the church grounds like Inspector Gadget. I spied the old man sitting alone on the bench outside the church. A picture of quiet contemplation. The father waiting for the Father. Bereft but blessed.  All that malarkey that makes a quality shot including rather perfect soft lighting caused by lack of sun. 

I love candid street photography – it’s my favourite. However, I hate doing it because it stresses me out. You have to be super stealth-like in the middle of public areas which makes you look a bit dodgy and a lot mental. This is the only way to proceed because the subject might take umbrage at being photographed if they spot you.

If you’re kind enough to ask the subject if they’d mind, you are generally met with a person asking 20 questions followed by the worst kind of unnatural forced pose which isn’t what you were after, or, an outraged psycho that thinks you’re going to sell their soul and market them on dubious sex sites.

I crept slowly toward the old man on the bench, stopping every now and then and pretending to analyse the detail on the gargoyles that I have seen a gazillion times over.  Just as I was about to take the shot he turned around and exclaimed, “A very good morning to you!” 

I nearly took the head off my Osmo gadget at being caught in the act and jerked around a bit as if I’d received a shock from my equipment. After I composed myself, I gazed at the windows above him, angling my phone and Osmo in that general direction as though they were the intended capture. Seven attempts it took me.  Seven.  And right after the shot he boomed, “You must go into the church and have a look inside!” 

In order to protect my cover I couldn’t refuse and swanned through the great doors with fake drama.  Straight away I was accosted by a member of the clergy demanding £5.00 for pictures.  That was my Costa Coffee up the spout.

Treesy Not So Peasy

Example 2: Nature

Tree in field at twilight

There’s nothing better than twilight for great pictures. In the winter months it’s much nicer because the sky takes on a dusky, ethereal mauve that makes any subject matter look like it’s painted onto the sky. I hadn’t gone out with the intention of taking photos and the only device I had on me was my phone. I happened to look out of the window of my house as the light was fading and thought it would be rather pleasant to go for a ramble in the country, through the farmer’s crop fields that are just across the road.  I reckoned I could get through a few pastures before the light faded and I was back on the pavement again.  

Wrong.  

You can’t just get onto the land from across the road because there are high hedges so you have to walk down the road a while and then cross over and go down a country lane until you come to a stile. By the time I’d got there the light was fading fast. Not enough for me to turn back but enough to make me a tad wary. But onward I tromped. And I mean tromped. The fields were sodden and churned up by vicious cows. It was much like paddling. In quicksand.

As soon as I spotted the tree standing in all its majestic glory I searched my many pockets for my phone.  I took the photo and felt proud of myself for going on a random evening walk and witnessing nature at its finest. Until I tried to walk away and left my walking shoe behind and nearly slipped a disc, dropped my phone, socked foot, and cheery demeanour in the squalid mud in front of me.  My other shoe, now supporting most of my weight as I tried to pivot on it, sank deeper and deeper into the soggy trench as I tried to locate my lost one. In the dark.  

It’s amazing how quickly the the horizon disappears and the abyss looks back. Now way too far in to turn back, I had to continue half blind with feet three times the size of what they were due to the clay casks that had developed around them.  And then there were the haunting noises from rabid animals in the distance. Or supernatural hybrids. The ones you can’t see but you know can see you.  And smell you from 70 miles away.  I totally got the fear and skidded/plodded as fast I could overland to the next exit and lamplit concrete before I got eaten.

 I’ve had cramp in my thighs from this experience for two days and when I went to crouch down to fetch something from under my table last night, I couldn’t get back up without hauling myself up with almighty force using the kitchen counter as support.

Talk about stupid.  But I’d rather you call me something nicer and since it’s “Get a different name day” today, I’d like to be known as The Queen of Arts.

Poem about names on a piece of paper

What would your new name be?  Tell me in the comments below and make it good or I’ll have to  chop off your head.

Punishment And Pies

February 6, 2019 8:00am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 14 Comments

February winter scene

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

February. I’m trying to survive it but it’s hard. Gloomy, cold, and uninspiring. The only answer is to give up your resolutions and start enjoying yourself again.   

Teddy bear crumpet

I found out that Asda makes crumpets in the shape of teddy bears. And I am 5.  Remarkably, ripping the head off a buttered up bear does wonders for your spirits. Breakfast is exciting again.

I also noticed this little thing in the shop…

Coconut pet

Perhaps there’s a theme going on here. I nearly bought it and put it in a cage.  I thought it would be amusing to show off my new pet to visitors, unnerve them, and make them leave early.  

It’s amazing the fun ideas you can come up with when you pay attention to things.

Talking of Boredom…

Ground hog day in the UK

It was recently Groundhog Day, although in the UK it’s been that way every day since we decided to Brexit. Every time I put the news on I envy Bill Murray. He had it easy.

 Apparently, Punxsutawney Phil, the sage and wisdomous groundhog, came out and predicted an early spring. 

He’s wrong.

Amateur.

Uromastyx lizard

Kevin has been in brumation for flipping ages, most annoyingly. However, on Groundhog Day he came out of his cave, had a quick look round, gave me a filthy look, and then went back to bed again.  

Move over Phil, my money is on Kevzilla the Klimate Kaller. 

Kevin clearly predicts winter for a further 6 weeks. 

Talking of Staying Warm…

When it’s cold outside, stay inside and watch something hot.  

Frank Castle “The Punisher” works for me.  Marvel’s finest hero. End of.

I’m now on the hunt for a bulletproof vest with a skull on which I think would be a fitting accompaniment to my bewwwts, lizard and pet coconut.  You gotta keep ahead of the curve. 

Talking of Top Crust…

Pieminister menu

I went out on Sunday to a restaurant that I have been meaning to visit for ages. 

The Pieminister.   And this one knows how to make a deal. 

Pieminister Sunday Best

What better than to warm up by tucking into a Great British Pie? And, fortuitously, on a Sunday, they make a Sunday best: pie, mash, mushy peas, Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, pigs in blankets, crackling and gravy.

A Great British Pie

  Blighty fodder at its finest.

Eating is very on trend at the moment because the great powerhouse that is China has said so.

Pigs nose quote

Chinese New Year ~ Year of the pig. That means you can eat as much bacon as you want. 

There’s always a bright side. 

The January Sale

January 23, 2019 5:28pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 8 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

In the form of a poem about the January sales.

 

The January Sale

Black Friday and Christmas didn’t cause enough strife,

To put you off malls and shopping for life,

It seems that spending’s become a bad habit,

And commercials encourage with, ”Last Chance To Grab It!”

You valiantly decide to get out in the thicket,

Declaring, “There’s just no rest for the wicked!”

Your family regard you, somewhat perplexed,

As you defiantly counter, “There’s a SALE on at Next!”

You hold your resolve and venture to town,

Wrapped up in your coat and wearing a frown,

And a purposeful look leaving others no doubt,

You’re ready to battle and give it some clout!

You jostle and elbow, working up muscle,

Through over-fed crowds that are still farting brussels,

Who seem to have lost any sense of good manners,

Now hypnotised by the red SALE banners.

You undo your scarf as you make a mad dash,

Cos it’s causing a terrible prickly-heat rash,

Itching and sweaty and dreadfully frail,

You finally reach the reduced clothing rails.

It’s last years old stock, much to your chagrin,

But you made a commitment to land a good bargain,

You grab out at anything close to your size,

In the hope you might land a fruitful surprise.

You wait in the queue for a year and a day,

And before you drop dead you’re back on your way,

To show the naysayers your fabulous gear, 

And how much money you’ve saved this New Year.

But as you start to undo all the wrapping,

You realise that someone should give you a slapping,

There’s clearly no doubt you are out of your mind,

If you thought all this tat was a genius find.

The leopard print dress with the top-to-toe zipper,

Would only look right on an overweight stripper,

And the jumpsuit you snagged in neon cerise,

Should have people calling the fashion police.

The granny-fied corset they said defies gravity,

Is nothing short of a visual travesty,

And doomed to make any new romance go south,

Cos it just made you throw up a bit in your mouth.

The jumper, though cashmere, a heinous mistake,

Tried on by so many it has lost all its shape,

And spoiled by a mark much like dried up saliva,

Which explains why the thing was only a fiver.

Your audience mock and pass comments quite snide,

And profess what a nice time they’ve had stuck inside,

To go to the sales is absurd and insane,

And you’ve only your easily-led self to blame.

You snatch at the hideous things you have bought,

Trying to think of a smart-arse retort,

And then comes a moment of God-given clarity,

“At least I’ve got something to donate to charity!”

 

~Jules Smith ~ January 2019

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