I have come to the conclusion that the respectably horrible show Desperate Housewives was based off the activities of the families who live on my street. Not all of them, per se, but probably a good half or three quarters. Today I was bombarded by four women who have the ridiculous idea that I am sleeping with their husbands, when the truth of the
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That's true. I've always been under the distinct impression that pink sundresses make my butt look too big.
Maybe the turtle has charmed the poor cat. Mind over body. I'd think that after all Betty has been through, losing her cat would be a devastating blow to her already dwindling self esteem.
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Have you met the turtle? It has got as much mind as it does body, and that's giving it too much credit. Speaking of Betty, I saw her eyeing your little boy this morning...you better watch out, her cat might get jealous.
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Unfortunately for Betty, Martin's at the stage in his life where gum in hair and proclaiming her ugly would count as foreplay and copulation combined.
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So, his name is Martin? Fortunately for Martin, Betty is in the stage of her life where tripping boys and shouting that they have cooties is her idea of seduction.
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None taken, I'm sure I deserved it some life or another.
Oh that's right, you haven't met him yet. You'll be seeing a lot of him, he's over for the weekend so he'll undoubtedly be joining in on tomorrow's neighborhood game of tag.
Wow, I feel like I should find a bowling trophy and a Barbie and have The Talk with him.
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I haven't, and that's good to hear. Ritual, though, calls for newly initiated children on the street to be it first.
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Right. It'll be easy to spot him, just look for the the little blonde boy getting tripped by Betty.
This has been an interesting and unique conversation, but it's past two in the morning and time for old men to sleep.
Goodnight.
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Goodnight, Mr. Fisher.
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