Spackle splatters everywhere
And a fresh coat of flat eggshell taupe.
That's all the rage in heaven this year.
"What's for supper?" he asks his bride,
As he pops the top on a Miller Lite beer
And scratches his hairy belly.
"You've had the kitchen torn up all day,
And I can't eat with the smell of paint
So strong up in here," she whines.
"Alright, Love," he says, grabbing his wallet
And sticking it down deep in his back pocket
Of his cargo painters pants.
"But you better drive,
Or else go ahead and sit in the back seat
If you're wanting ta be a back seat driver."
"Haha," she scoffs,
"That was funny the first four hundred times you said it."
He just smiles and throws his arm around her
On their way out the door.
Mother Earth takes care of herself,
And The Lord takes care of everything else.
-jenn
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