I used to be a woman of lux but now I am quite the hag. The COVID has turned me upside down and made me terribly sad.
I hate you COVID. You’ve reduced me to nothing and left me like curbside trashion. I swear there is nothing else in this world that I hate with such a passion.
I am literally un-plucked, un-painted, un-shaved — and I look so unloved. My lady garden has really bloomed and there’s no energy to shave it. Screw it, I’ll start the trend. I’ll either braid it or brave it.
My breath stinks five days a week. I sleep until ten and eat cookies for breakfast, I read trashy news and smell like Vicks mentholyptus.
In the beginning I exercised and was eager to show off my summer bod, but my foul mood has driven loved ones away and the only one who likes me is the dog.
My hair is highly combustible it’s like a sage brush all nasty and brown — keep that cig away. Nahh — let me start from scratch — let’s burn this mother down.
Sadly, I believe I have forgotten all my lady manners. I scratched my crotch the other day in front of the Amazon man. He threw my package at my face and quickly ran back to his van.
In my pre-COVID life, I want to apologize for every lie I told. You’d ask me to go out and I would say no, I have important things to do. Like turning on Netflix and bingeing Captain Kangaroo.
Gawd, I miss my life, I miss it so bad! I had the world in my palm, that’s no lie. And now it’s me and my couch — my West Elm home fry.
Oh, how I wish I could lay on the beach my girlfriends by my side, tanning our buns in the afternoon sun, a sparkly cocktail by our side.
I would eat dog food if it meant a candle lit dinner for two. My boo on my arm, he’s quite the charm and my feet in my high-heeled shoes.
I would look like a million bucks wearing all the things I used to hate. I’d rock that frock and drop some moves, I’d dance like Beyonce.
There’d be no stopping me, I am a tigress without a noose, go ahead and open that gate cause momma is busting loose.
I’d be out on the town in my sequined gown, behaving like jail bait. Pretty Lady is at the Ritz and hubby is my Richard Gere. Grab your wallet Mr. Man and get on over here.
My clock is ticking it’s almost time to bolt right through that door. I’d grab my mask — start singing Lizzo tracks about a disco ball and dance floor.
You, children, are not getting in my car and I am not a fooling. I am going over there. Momma don’t care. Cause I am done with homeschooling!
Hey there! Thanks for reading. I love people who read my stuff but I love you more when you subscribe to my blog, share my blog and talk about me with your friends. Ya’ll go ahead and gossip behind my back. It’s alright, I kind of like it. Know what else I like? ….5 stars and social shares!