That dough is suffering through some pretty harsh displaced aggression


“Guhhhh! Why does the phone always ring when I’m ass deep in goop?

Hello? Oh hi Betty! No, nothing important. Your burnt orange serving platter? The one with the olive and brown leaf design or the one shaped like a turkey with corncobs as tail feathers?

Oh. Didn’t you bring that to the Ladies’ Auxiliary Luncheon last Sunday? No, I don’t remember seeing it at my Tupperware party. Maybe you left it at Alice’s. No, Betty, I’m positive I don’t have it. It’s not like I’d miss a three-foot orange dish hanging around my kitchen.

Look, Betty, don’t get snippy with me. It’s not my fault you can’t keep track of your tea service. YES YOU DO, BETTY, last month it was your wooden napkin holders and at Christmas it was your Burt Reynolds salt and pepper shakers.

Look, if you’re accusing me of something here you may as well just come out and say it.

Uh huh.

Uh huh, right.

Well you know what, Betty? You can just go jam your mop where the sun don’t shine.

Oh, I’M a dirty thieving über bitch? You know what, Betty? Go get a fart stuck!”

*slams down phone*



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