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September 23, 2016
It's sometime in the early afternoon. I'm in the kitchen in a quasi-psychedelic plush paisley robe, jeans, a T-shirt, and big fluffy pink slipper booty things. Reading glasses on a Turkish "oya" chain hang around my neck. I'm mushing up cat food with a fork (for my cat, not me) (come on) over the sink. Asylum escapees want to cultivate my "look".

"Oh, is it any wonder I am single?" I sing. "I do not go out and mingle." And the rhymes go from there. What man would put up with this, I wonder. And do I really care? (Nope!)