I'm always looking for my car in dreams. It must be Freudian. Never whilst naked, though. Just convinced I'll never drive again and never find my way home.
And btw, it literally is a doormat. Way too small and flimsy for anyone to pretend it's a rug, least of all that closet Rag husband of mine. Gaslighting twat. He was laughing as he handed it over. I am open to suggestions about what's to be done about all this. Or is being a Rag with useless...
Fancy pretending to be a blue, the lying Rag. No doubt, he's afraid to admit he supports a team full of fraudulent, pouting children and preening clack wankers, all of whom are shite at football, belong in a pub team and whose manager looks like he would be happier manning the tills at Asda than...
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