clearing up and cleaning are immediately after dogs pick up sausages, two of my favorite tasks. When a deathly longweilig Groundhog day, and already at the dawning morning greets you with a broad grin, is any change, right.
Since there are women at a time when the neighbor's toupee also quite charming accident "of Princess Valiant and Molly" ringing the bell at the gate of the residence Smithies, friendly but at an early hour in order to borrow a pinch of salt. Residence Porte. Now think of the reader, I sell myself on investment! Far from it. Since the U.S. accommodate me, I am ennobled normal. The Homeland Security Officer at the beautiful panel Airport in Newark has beaten me to speak with his iris scanner for Knight of Couchonien (which not far from the beautiful Bedieniungen is). How else could one explain that Mike, with a penetrating voice, the following sentence has captured on the answering machine: "Hello! You have reached the Smith's residence, after the tone please leave a message! "I suppose I must get used to it that you first seek an audience with me on the answering machine before I pick up the phone. Mike knows his way around there. He has never namely the Tonbandbuttler so that jingle after 2 times heard his sweet voice. Then I put on my silk slippers of course no chance to pick up the time to be a woman of the people. I'm just wondering why I was in our Residence still must make their own finger.
In the first weeks I felt like I was "resurrected from the ruins and faced towards the future". I was totally in my new role as a Jedi Knight on the TV channels. No pants gave me more fit, so I went on it! But that was me and my light sword is not in the least put out of. The force was with me! Suddenly and unexpectedly began my Dark Lord, however, to the regulator whistle. "I have no more fresh underwear, you've washed this week?" Mike asked me, raising his voice as he searched the closet for unused Dödelwärmern. I threw my wed spouse, from the sofa, a dark look at, pursed his lips and read announced: "You have reached Luke Skywalker's residence. I'm on the dark side! Here we are not wash the skid marks from the bushes burn, but the panties in the fire of burning lava! "Mike was not placed on the joke," Beep. You have reached the Emperor's hotline. Everyone who has two hands and a brain the size of a pea will immediately get their asses of the sofa and wash my skivvies! NOW. So I knew my otherwise so well ventilated sailor did not, but now his lungs pumping pretty hard. Before I even cut off the hand of Lord Helmchen, I threw better in no time the washing machine, and in an instant, as if from magic raft, and began to swirl on the drum. It would also be nice stupid was my Lord and master of his desire not to comply, or he would have to go without Pupsstopper to work. Not to imagine what would have happened if the fly had been open to the emperor before his subjects. After I my love now so that, admittedly, small favor had done, and I was the sole control of my action space of 1x1 meters between coffee table and dreary, I decided the golden cage that aufdiktiert me from the busy, California, Immigration Office, with its ban on working was to be disloyal. I performed the dirty work in our residence in person and without any pressure of my Emperor. blow the Staubkrümmelchen of the furniture began to take on fun and so decorated with a satisfied smile my rosy face and a funny little song on his lips, I dried the Pipipfützchen our family dog, "Wendy the leak" with my hair dryer: "That makes little financial from all alone, my husband says that bit budget can not be so bad, my husband says, how a woman can not complain at all, is incomprehensible, my husband says and what my husband says exactly right. I need to know because I'm his wife. "
What I am glad I got taught before my knighthood which means discipline and order. Apart from the drill of my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Knoche, my parents have done a great service to initiate me into the mysteries of the Financial beautification and conservation. As a small child had to me a grudge is nothing more than my thoughts. The only clean up what I had were my ideas, otherwise, with me everything was spotless. Vodi My question is now determined whether I have hired a ghost-ghost writer and he has confused my manuscript with that of Martha Stewart. This I can only say clearly: "No Dad, I need your memory a little helping hand." You will surely can remember my sense of order. Who's your nice because with not even a spring, such as "Rainbow Johnny sat in his tepee and every grain of sand Baltic tortured individually from the ceiling to keep them free of Pitiplatschengmaschenstrickstranddecke the gaps? Multitasking capabilities and thorough I was. How else do I have this cleanliness discipline as accurate with a Farting abgepellten wieners between the first two tunes, on my pink plastic pot, and with deft ears breathing in order not to lose consciousness to master, can? You can not say yes well that I ever crawled with even one grain in the sight of the wigwam. I have defended my immaculate unpolluted canvas palace before the smudged with sticky Nasenrotz Dune Burrower. batting with all 10 fingers pointed with a straight face, I hit the filthy invaders crawling flight. I still have calluses on their hands. When you really remember exactly were my first words, which I combined with the scruffy beach and breathless by the how licked, squeezed Titi "Iiiieeeh, bah, bah." Well, now it dawns on you so slowly, Dad? Maybe I should buy a couple tomorrow sand molds, a sun hat straps around the chin and go to the local beach in Florida. I'm sure a few photos of me in the birthday suit, on a blanket, sitting with a disgusted face and feet contorted with pain gracefully behind, by the above described accessories angehübschten, ears folded, would your forgettable turns in terms of "Malie Ulieses early aversion to any type of sedimentary rock and disorder "in the jumps to help. See, I knew it, I must only show you the memories of tickling. possible to paint a detailed picture of what happened before the imaginary eyes of the reader is already half the battle. The other part of the rent is always nice to stay with the truth. Both I can from the depths of my wigwam seal with an Indian word of honor. Hau, tribal leader of the "clean-held" has spoken!
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