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Angry ants in los rantypants

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In the famous words of Florence:

You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
And I set fire to our bed

And that about sums up La mood on this Day of Mon.

So what’s got the angry ants going in los rantypants?

  • Fighting loin fruits. Which they were all weekend. I try to impress upon each of them that the existence of the other inoculates them from solo care of a one-day incontinent La Triv, but they appear not to give two craps.
  • Seriousimo staying up til midnight for the past five nights fighting his way to the top of a tower of legal briefs. Then, no matter how quiet he tries to be, waking La up upon his ingress into la marital bed of deceit*.

  • Then this morning, this chump and his fracking dual leaf-blowers. Gods, La hates leaf-blowers.

  • Forgetting los wedding rings, then needing to worry that some cougar-fancying bloke will try and pick me up they will go missing from Palazzo Trivialista and I will be forced to blame loin fruits or domestic help for their disappearance.
  • Uploading picture of naked left hand and becoming depressed at increasingly scaly, aged nature of formerly plump, youthful handskin.

  • Unreconstructed Harbour City residents farting on the bus. Leave it at home, people.

  • Unforgiving nature of Harbour City sunshine taking too high a toll on formerly plump, youthful handskin and faceskin. Egads La dreads summer.


  • Being greeted by enormous dead tuna upon entry to the food court beneath the Wordporium.

  • Owning 22 tubes of Nars Tempest lip gloss (approximately one per handbag) and finding none in il rucksacko. Srsly, who do you have to pay around here for a functioning brain?

  • Discovering presence of no more than 20 cents in la wallet. So no nerve-calming java jolt for La this morning. Not good news for anyone.

  • And, finally, there was this.  La works on Level 20. Say no more.

Let’s hope my Day of Mon improves, and that yours is already infinitely better x

*For morally inclined readers or those who might accuse La of oversharing, the term ‘marital bed of deceit’ relates to the underside of the bed in its occasional role as a hideyhole for unapproved purchases. They rest there until such time as it’s officially the truth to say to Seriousimo, “What? This old thing? I’ve had it for ages…”

2 responses »

  1. No floor 13…didn’t take xxxx for being so superstitious.

  2. Oh yer good point… I seem to remember when we went on the trip with the Esteemed Females of the Family (and L’Auteur) in ’90, none of the US buildings had 13… is it still like that there? *just wondering*


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