Things started to look up last night as cleaning products were introduced to the Queen and what was thought to be used to clean the filth she consistently produces. Nein.
Purely selfish reasons. She believes in false hope only to shatter, crunch, and stomp all over them. The bathroom was flooded once more by her lack of understanding of the invention of the towel. Never has cloth and paper products been more of a necessity in my life until now.
But quick! Stop thinking about having to put on your rain boots to take on the swamp to use the bathroom...the cake is burning. Her cake. The Queen's cake. Time is not a concept anymore and if it's not death by candle it will most certainly be death by food. BURNING FOOD THAT IS CHOCOLATE CAKE NOT BROWNIES. Silly little queen.
The next day...
I ever so carefully but swiftly clamored down the 2 inch wide "ladder" of my bunk bed as my senses stirred panicked at the sounds of dishes clinging, pots clashing. The Queen is home and Cinderella has been asleep.
The door is torn open, quickly holding on by the hinges as not to be ripped off the frame so unexpectedly. And there it was....not just a plate of brownies..but a plate of chocolate cake that the Queen mistook as convertible brownies. Her cake on my plate. My property defiled by her forgetfulness.
She can have her cake and eat it too just not on my plate.
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