A walk down the Bitch with a Beach

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

The Maid

She bleached my shirt that wasn't stained. She destroyed it. She had the cheek to iron it and put it back into my wardrobe; first piece on top. I freaking confronted her. Armed with a rag and a grouch, she continued negotiating the stubborn stains on the dinning table. I rebuked her fanatically, forcing her into paying for the shirt. She freaking turned around and said, "Money, No problem."

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