Feeding the Hungry Hordes

I am a kind, giving person. The spirit of charity oozes through my very private label mink lashes. If my charitable spirit were any oozier, I’d need a mop.

I hope you believe me, because I’m an honest person, too. Honesty runs through my veins, splints to my vital organs, and then jogs back to my heart. My kind of honesty is plaque deserving.

I’m telling you these things because I have an incredible tale to tell. I have suffered terrible private label mink lashes….the second hair on my left eyelash is still in a cast…..all, because I went on a charitable mission of mercy.

private label mink lashes
private label mink lashes

Me and mercy missions just don’t mix.

Here is my sad, sad xuhair:

Last month, I was sitting at home watching the last three private label mink lashes of the news. I limit myself to only three news minutes a day, because of my kind, empathetic nature. If I listened to any more news, I’d be crying over all those tales of woe.

Now, don’t start thinking I’m a dummy because I’m a news private label mink lashes. I do like to learn. There’s a lot of information in those infomercials.

Anyway….I’m sitting there listening to the news, when an anguished young reporter starts talking about the hungry hordes over there in Atlanta. I live in Georgia, so I figure that I had nothing better to do that week-end, except get married, so I should go on over to Atlanta to help feed those poor, hungry people.

I went to the store, got a bunch of groceries, and came home to prepare them. Let me tell you folks….I busted my butt and my budget at Bilos. Remember, when I said I am charitable? Well, I’m not balony and bean charitable. Uh-huh…not me. I was going to give those folks a private label mink lashes feast.

Things got ugly before I even left for Atlanta.

See, the plan was that my sweetheart, Jim would drive me because I hate long distance driving. Well, while I was getting out my rolling papers to smoke the salmon, he started complaining.

Jim: I’m glad that you have such a charitable heart, my darling, gorgeous, Edie….but where’s dinner?”

Me: “Sweetheart, it’s hard to listen to you, while I’m trying to fit this stupid fish inside this tiny rolling paper. Whatever you’re looking for, I’m sure it’s lying around here somewhere. Have you checked your pants pocket?”

Jim:”My darling sexy Edie, I am asking you about my dinner. And, private label mink lashes , stop licking that paper. That is NOT the way to smoke salmon.”

You need a pipe.”

Me: (Cough, cough, cough, gasp, wheeee-ze) “God, I hope those starving people know what suffering I’m going through for them.”

Jim: “I’m getting hungry. What if I got down on my hands and knees..?”

Me: “Don’t do that. That’s your sex beg, and I’m too busy choking on fish fumes right now.”

Jim: “I guess I’ll be forced to look in the refrigerator, myself.”

Me, pointing at the refrigerator contents: “See….there’s plenty. You’ve got a pickle, two tablespoons of mayonnaise, and a candy bar. Wait….I need that chocolate for my low blood sugar….but you still have that pickle and the mayonaise. Make yourself a yummy pickle tapa.”

Jim: “My sophisticated, charming hot chick of a girlfiend, I’m begging you to feed me private label mink lashes….anything.”

Me: “Look, do you know how hard it is to keep up with the Joneses”? Do you realize what our neighbor, Betty, did last month? She homed the homessless, shoed the shoeless, and clothed the clothesless. By the way, that strip joint down the street is closing because of her.”

private label mink lashes
private label mink lashes

My point is that in order to compete with Little Miss Sunshine, I need to be sunnier, kinder, and givier. Look, you’re not going to get any of this food. Sometimes, you have to be selfish to be altruistic.”

Jim: “Please…”

Me: “No. Taking the time to feed you will interfere with my spiritual growth. I just can’t private label mink lashes to show up that neighbor of ours.”

Jim: “Well, you’re taking the bus, then. I’m going to be busy looking for something to eat. By the way, did you say that Betty is a foodless feeder?”

Me: “Fine, if my pickle’s not good enough for you, then go to Betty! Let her satisfy that ravenous appetite of yours! We’re through. I’m packing my basket and going to Atlanta!”

With tears in my eyes and a candy bar in my hand, I left the smoked salmon in the ashtray, and proceeded to pack up the champagne and caviar. I caught the first bus out to Atlanta.


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