I wonder where my little pagan princess is? No doubt, she's out casting spells, or getting her nails, hair, and lips painted black. I gave her a broomstick for her birthday and said it was cheaper on gas than her Saab. She failed to see the humor in it. What I wouldn't give to find a woman that dug watching sunsets, The Three stooges, and listening to Miles Davis; that looked alive, instead of like Morticia from the Adams Family, or some demented funeral director on crack.
She's got a meeting with the coven tonight. I suggested that we get some Chardonnay, put on some Van Morrison, and make love by the fireplace. She just cackled and flew off, in her Saab, not on the broomstick.