The Butcher, The Baker, and the INS

Today I, accidently, put my red tube top in with my whites. Everything turned pink. My wicked housekeeper, Marisol, came crying to me and apologized profusely. She had no idea that I threw the taut chest piece in the was. It was a last minute instinct after a brief water balloon war with Maddox and Zahara. But I let the blame rest heavy on Marisol's shoulders, and I slept wonderfully - guilt free.

I docked Marisol's pay for two weeks, and after returning from my sojourn to Khazikstan I fired her. Life without Marisol will never be the same. She knew how to organize my shoehorns, ascots and butterfly pins. She knew when to leave a room, when to do her highly entertaining ping pong routine, and when to take out the roasted red peppers so they are perfect.

I will miss her. Always.


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