Cup a joe?
Welcome back!
I awoke this morning, much too early, to the sound of the door being slammed. When I came downstairs, I was informed that I had overslept and missed breakfast. She did offer me a cup of coffee, but just stared at me when I asked what flavor. When she handed me a cup, I understood. She then told me it was time to gather the eggs, and led me outside, past a pen full of filthy pigs that needed wrinkle cream more than she does. Horrified, I realized that last evening’s repast had probably come out of that pen. I got even more queasy when she informed me that from now on egg gathering was my chore and that yes, I really was expected to put my hand under the chicken’s backside and feel around. I want to go home.
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