Good morning, world. Would you like to see me play with a stick on a string?
Shawshank survived his long Saturday shift. Gone are the days of three-hour shifts. However, it’s money, and he’s talking to people who aren’t stuffy rich folks with no problem spending $100 on a throw pillow. Everyone knows him, and he knows no one. Supposedly, I’m also known about town. On one of his first shifts, someone asked if his wife was the one with the light balls. Plus, his first paycheck came in: even with the pay cut, it’s comparable to what he made at the shop.
Pippin just gave me the most horrified look after I snuffled. My head is stuffy, and shit’s noisy. Horrified.
Since today is the only day off this weekend, we’re driving out to Slightly BiggerTown for a light shopping trip. I’m waiting for the sun to come up a bit more so I can put makeup on. Shawshank‘s work is having a Christmas party tonight, and we need to buy shit. We’ll pick up some lunch while we’re there. I need to do my nails. Happy Sunday.
![[witty title that has something to do with the post’s content]](https://chicky.blog/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/wp-1702735968419-150x150.png)
