Meet Lora. Lora breeds Angora rabbits. What started out as a hobby after receiving one for a pet 6 years ago has now become an obsession. Lora’s friends say she’s changed but she doesn’t see how. Okay so maybe she wears angora sweaters all year round, which of course accounts for how brilliantly white her skin tone has become, but she happens to be cold natured. The scrutiny she’s receiving from friends and family about her lifestyle habits has caused her to become a closeted salad eater. She craves lettuces and raw veggies - locking herself in the bathroom to scarf down an erotically fluffy pile of glistening, quivering romaine...mmm. After enjoying a quick suckle of water from a squirt bottle held aloft, she heads off to find her husband, Steve, for yet another quickie (it’s gotten up to four times daily - poor Steve is chafed and exhausted). Then she hops right on over to the fridge for a handful of long, firm carrots. The other day, as Lora was spreading a third layer of cedar mulch in the plant beds surrounding her home’s perimeter, she heard a strange noise. Her head shot up, hair in her face. She couldn’t see so she sniffed in the air, frozen in place. It turned out to be just a squirrel but she hopped right on inside to be safe. Steve looked on from their living room window with concern before running to hide in the closet for fear of a third quickie that day. Lately she’s been incorporating her two large front teeth in their activities and he’s a little scared.
Kate runs a thriving charity benefiting the homeless and somehow has time to be a doting mother to four children. And has her yoga certification. And no chin hairs....
This is the new Amy. This Amy would never have a gross refrigerator. She's not that kind of person. She's clean, organized and fresh. She feels sorry for the people with dirty fridge shelves and expired chicken stock boxes. She can't imagine having a 2 year old jar of pepperoncini peppers with mold on the inside of the lid. That's no way to live and Amy is glad she's the right kind of person. Yesterday Amy had two bags of clothes designated for Goodwill in her dining room corner. They'd been there for 2.5 months, eventually becoming invisible.
She slithers her way in and out of friend groups, wreaking havoc anywhere she can. She told you last week how much she admires you for not caring what you look like – she “just doesn’t feel right about leaving the house“ if she’s not completely put together.