Really. Must I BEG for a decent stylist? Am I speaking the wrong LANGUAGE? Does SHE, the tall one, go with no haircut for a year? Today I made her leave while my darling Mr. Ken simply SLAVED away. (He says I have FABULOUS skin. I let him do my nails, too. So JEALOUS, poor boy.)
And then. That horrible THING... b-o-b-o. No, she did NOT go to Mr. Ken. He wouldn't have her, I KNOW it. But there she is, the star of the party? No. Not at ALL. Who got home first? Me. Who did SHE pet first? ME. Not Bobo. Copycat, thy name is b-o-b-o.
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