Give Me Cinnamon Rolls and Nobody Gets Hurt

This morning, Mrs. Wiggy had to leave early - she was taking Molly to the Vet to get, er, tampered with. I feel sorry for both of them. Milo is beside himself, looking around the kitchen and whimpering softly. He's really lost without his sister. Poor guy.

Speaking of sisters, today is Wiggy's sister Therma Lou's birfday. HA!

Therma Lou is 40 years old today!

Paid for by the "Get Even with Therma Lou Committee"

OK, enough of that. Happy Birfday, Sis. I Love you. Even if you're all old now. Hehehehe.

What I really wanted to talk about...

One of my co-workers brought in cinnamon rolls from "Inner Banks Market" today. For which, bless her. She shall be spared in the future event which shall become known as "The Great Debagging and Radishing of 2005," er, forget I said that.

So she comes up to me with this little tray of tiny cinnamon rolls. Cute little things. She offers me one, but before I can reach for it, she wants to tell me a story. Not really a good idea, to wave food in my face and then deny me while trying to say words and stuff. I try to maintain calm. It doesn't work.

"I got these at Inner Banks Market," she says.
"Very nice!" I reply, eyeing my prey like an eagle looking over a three-legged fat hampster.
"Inner Banks has a lot of good food," she continues.
"Yep. They sure do. Can I have the cinnamon roll now?"
"And their parking lot is easy to get in and out of, too."
"Shut up! Just shut up and give me the cinnamon roll!"
"Oh, you want the cinnamon roll?"
"Hell, yes, I want a Cheesy Poof! Now hand it over before I throttle you!"

Ah. My inner child is actually Cartman. I knew that. Well, we all did, didn't we?

She opened the lid and I grabbed a tiny cinnamon roll, and she retreated warily. Good idea. Like an F-16 jet fighter engine intake, my soup-suck should be labeled "Warning: Keep Hands and Feet Away!"

Having consumed the tiny cinnamon roll, I am not sated, but I am a bit ashamed. Perhaps if I apologize, I can get another small cinnamon roll.

She may talk again. I must steel myself. There is work to be done.

Stays Crunchy, Even in Milk,

Wiggy