***If you haven’t been by in a while and missed my earlier toilet post, please go here first, so the following will make sense.***
My Dearest John,
I know you think you have the upper hand(le)in this relationship, but that’s about to end.
You see John, I refuse to be your ho any longer. You can take that thought and let it flow right out of your tanked- up imagination. I’m through with you and your constant running.
You have not been good to me, John. You’ve clogged up my life long enough. I’m putting my foot down and taking the plunge(r). I’m ready to show you who the head of this household is.
I’m scared. I’m not afraid to admit that, even to you. But in loo of sitting back and watching you drain the very sanity (if not my poo) out of me, I’m going to take a stand. A stand (but not while peeing) against the atrocity of your substandard performance.
No longer will I take the injustice of not being able to lean like a queen upon my throne whilst I take my
hourly daily ablutions. You are officially in the out doghouse.
This, John, is what is in your very near future.
Don’t give me that heavy- lidded, innocent gaze!
And John? When I do finally find the courage to look deep into the bowels of your dank interior? I can promise you this. You’re going down, baby. Down in a flood of humiliation, while I? Will be flush with pride.
Go visit Jill, yada yada yada. Love me, love her, yada yada yada.