Eggs are complicated. They should cost like… a hundred dollars each

I haven’t been on the line the last couple of days, because after all the hours spent in grueling training at work this week, I only want to collapse in a heap when I get home. I know, I know. It’s totally unfair to all five of you who depend on me to make your day that much ha-ha-ier. I apologize. And I apologise to those that it spell it that way.

In an attempt NEVER to have to leave the house, I ordered my week’s worth of groceries online and had them delivered Sunday. Instead of that whole ordeal of driving across the street to the store, I had the store come to me.

This week, I didn’t have to sit on the couch and surf the internet while I waited for Brian to bring all the bags from the car before he put all the stuff away. The delivery man offloaded the bags right at the front door, so Brian just had to pick them up and carry them over to the kitchen before he put everything away. While I sat on the couch and played Puzzle Pirates.

My only complaint is that they didn’t send me the individual snack cheeses with the jokes printed on the wrappers. I’ll have to put that in the “Notes to My Personal Shopper” section next time.

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6 responses to “Eggs are complicated. They should cost like… a hundred dollars each

  1. Bitch. I am sooo jealous. There are advantages to living in a city. *sigh*

  2. Brian just had to pick them up and carry them over to the kitchen before he put everything away

    I’m glad the new arrangement is so much more convenient….for you….

  3. The Almighty Cuthulu

    I have never heard of anything more lazy than that. I am apalled I didn’t get to do it first. The Almighty Cuthulu has spoken

  4. There are advantages to living in a city.

    Like being able to find a submissive crossdresser who’ll put away your groceries while you lay on the couch and crack your whip?

  5. Could I possibly borrow him for a few days?

  6. Like being able to find a submissive crossdresser who’ll put away your groceries while you lay on the couch and crack your whip?

    Is this about me?

    It is, isn’t it?

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