Come home, FarmWife! It's rainy, and there's no one here to change my blankie for me. (I can't possibly let FarmHusband do it . . . the straps cross far too close to my tickly bits. I've been left naked, since we're in between seasons.)
Jasper suggests a jail break to get her attention, to which I reply that FarmHusband is NOT a vegetarian, and that goats are renowned for their vindaloo-seasoning properties.
B.G. suggests an early labor, to which I reply that preemie kids are a large price to pay for the attentions of our beloved mistress.
Missy suggests having a second stroke, to which I roll my eyes and wrinkle my assymetrical nostrils in horror. No, thank you! That was no fun.
Clover, the chihuahua, says she's got it all under control. Having infiltrated the house, she's going to poop on the bathmat until FarmWife agrees to come home.
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