My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants a baby. Says she's lonely, says it's been way too long since her last one wore out.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is taking lessons to become a helicopter parent. Says it's fun, but she's having trouble getting a license for the machine guns.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, what a gal. I get to hang out with her and all the rest of her relations during bat week at the the family compound. The blood is rushing to my head just thinking about it.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, no longer plays with dolls, not since that incident with the flamethrower. Says she doesn't want to go through that kind of trauma again. So from now on she's only spending time with the neighborhood kids (weather permitting, and if she can get kerosene).
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to be a mama. She's been practicing by acting like one, by carrying around a heated brick, tenderly wrapped. I've been taking photos for the family album, which they keep in the vault.
My love, Echinoia Eeeps, the one who used to be a sniper, isn't. Any more. I hope. But she does still have a lot of artillery in her closet. And the boots. Still the boots.
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Me? Trying to avoid cookies, especially the chocolate-chip ones. They've been out of sorts and generally upset about everything lately.
