Bitch, where’s my bologna sandwich?

I’ve decided I’m going to buy and apron with a big pocket in the front. I’m going to keep a pad of paper and a pen in that pocket. On the weekends, I’m going to wear that apron, with the pocket in front, with the pen and paper in that pocket and sit by the front door.
And I’m going to take orders from my kids and the 72 kids that think my house is the hood diner.
I’m going to take orders and freshly prepare whatever it is they ask for.
“Corn dog? Would you like mustard and ketchup with that? Coming right up!”
All the while with a smile on my face.
I think I’ll wear a short skirt and roller blades, that way they’ll tip me really good, with lots of candy, because I know the hoodlums in that hang out here are broke as MC Hammer.
All that would be missing is that damned cash register I never did get for my birthday.
Oh, the boys are yelling for a piece of cake, I must go and serve them and in doing so, serve my purpose in this family.
Can I get you anything while I’m in the kitchen?

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