Wavy. Sweetheart. Sometime in the past week or so, you learned how to cry like a big girl. The silent sob, your pretty face contorted into a mask of sorrow, your rosebud little mouth turned down towards your trembling chin, the adamant little shake of your head: "no, no... I'm all right..."
For now, this devastating countenance is reserved for the sound of the industrial-sized lawnmower once a week when the landscapers invade our yard. But someday... someday, this def-con 4 weapon will be turned upon an unsuspecting male, and everything in this world that you desire will be handed to you on a purple, velvet pillow.
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