I am so sick of peas.

What really gets me in my queen of hearts is that I thought I liked peas enough to be able to eat 12 oz. of them. Turns out, peas ain’t no green beans.

And now for another chapter of Sarah the Mind-Reader:

The difference between a tacky millionaire and a tacky word snob is the millionaire, upon first becoming noveau riche, bathes himself in dolla dolla bills, y’all.

The word snob, however, tosses Scrabble tiles into the air and rolls around in them like birdseed.

That is what you do with birdseed, right? I’m not the only one doing this, am I?

(Now you’re asking yourself how that “quantifies” as mind-reading. My friend Jess kept using the word “quantifies” last night and I am mocking her. Hello Jess.)

As I write this, Chevy is snoring. SNORING. Somewhere, Gherkin is gnashing her vinegar-infused teeth.

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