Foolish At Forty

I looked myself over one last time in my body mirror that’s attached to the back of my bedroom door. Twenty minutes later Liz and Joann showed up. One of those clowns rung the doorbell what seemed like twenty times nonstop.

“Alright damnit! Stop screwing my doorbell!” I yelled.

I switched to the door wearing my six inch pumps and opened it slightly. I stuck my head out, “Bout time you two bitches showed up.” Both of them walked in talking shit about one another.

“Blame that shit on Liz. She was the one who had to run to the cleaners for her husband, cook dinner and clean the house. I don’t cook, clean or run errands on Fridays. My husband knows not to ask.” Joann lipped.

 

 

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