A writing piece from Scars, Tears and Training Bras!
“Get out of bed and sort that washing out,” the panther says, breathing into my face. His breath smells of rotten meat.
It’s 5.30pm and I’m trying, and failing to achieve my afternoon sleep.
“I’m not doing it,” I tell him.
He looks appalled and turns away from me, waving his tail. He gazes out of the window. It’s raining. It’s been pouring all day.
“I’m not doing it,” I repeat. ”It’s not just a matter of shoving it into the machine and switching it on, you know. I’ll have to unload it and hang it up as well and I just can’t manage that today and…”
“You’re so lazy,” the panther says, stretching his whole self out next to me. ”Not to mention how fat you are and…”
“I’m ill,” I say. ”I’ve got to make supper and write my blog and that’s all I can manage today. The…
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