Jose sauntered into the bed room buzzing Let’s Get It On, fully prepared for love. As a substitute, he stopped useless in his tracks.
The mattress had been aggressively break up down the center by a makeshift border wall constructed from hen wire, barbed wire, and a rusty backyard rake.
“Uh, Windy?” Jose stammered, eyeing the barricade. “Is that this a hostage negotiation?”
Windy sat primly on her aspect, carrying a facial masks thicker than drywall paste. With out wanting up, she cold-bloodedly whispered: “You understand precisely what you probably did.”
Jose panicked, mentally scrolling via his current sins. “Was it the thermostat? The mayo incident?”
She lastly checked out him with the depth of a thousand burned casseroles.
“You deleted The Crown finale to document a three-hour fishing documentary.”
Jose stared again on the razor-sharp fence, swallowed laborious, and muttered, “Yeah… that explains the barbed wire.”
