or i could hide them under the dust-cloths; she’d NEVER find them there

Thinking Inside the … Bag

The human female is back at work.  About which, more later…  In the meantime, I will content myself with a bit of mischief around the house.

It is a sad, sad fact of Midgardian physiology that some females, once they achieve a certain age, tend to have much in common with billy goats.  Their skin dries out and their feet look more like hooves.  Their querulous voices take on a bleating quality.  And, most of all, they are very prone to chin whiskers.

The human female whose abode I share excels in this production of excess facial hair.  Between the bushy eyebrows and the hair on her chinny-chin-chin, she is vigilant in including plucking in her slap-dash “beauty” regimen.

Which is why I expect she will panic for the better part of a week when I hide the tweezers in this bag of cotton balls and then turn the bag over…


How many times will she paw through her cosmetics drawer?  Will she find them before she caves in and buys a replacement pair?  Will the human male have to purchase a livestock license?  Oh, the suspense!

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