Thanks for the invitation, but last time you wouldn't let Molly past the front door. She hasn't forgotten and neither have I.
What was the big thing with making me take my boots off?
Ooooh, imported rugs,
and everybody making a big deal out of your barfy tea.
Bitch, please.
Next thing you'll build a she-shed with paper walls.
Nope, me and Molls will be nine miles from here,
Molls with her ear buds in.
(She likes western swing.)
We stop and doze any time we want,
Molly dreaming of a bag of warm oats
and me dreaming that I'm dreaming, which will be true.
So go step in a gopher hole, girl.
You can post it on social media and call it a wine grotto.
_____
for Sunday Muse #82 where I am hostessing. Bring your pony.