Cinderella Flips the Bird

This morning I walked into the third ring of hell my kitchen and was dismayed to find that my deal with God (made last night during a strenuous prayer session) had not been successful. House elves had not been dispatched, the winning lottery ticket did not have my name on it, and Jason Mraz was not there making me coffee. (The good news is that all bets are off: I can run through red lights and take the Lord's name in vain to my heart's content.)

Anyways, as I was saying: My kitchen is was is filthy. June Cleaver would have a fucking heart attack. Martha would not approve. Neicy Nash would exclaim over my "foolishness!" So I said to myself, "We re-heally need to clean this dump!" I broke the job down into little, easily-managed pieces in my head...and then I went out and bought myself flowers instead. 'Cause I felt like it. 'Cause that's how I roll. 'Cause sometimes, it's all about me.