Stooping in the morning picking up the garbage, littering her green lawn, Susan does her busywork thinking that it's valuable, yacking at the phone. Flipping through the channels, screaming at the wallpaper, waiting for tomorrow underneath the shady trees, flip-flopping with K-mart ease, clutching sugar that she borrowed. Good morning future homemakers of America,
Oh Mrs. Dishrag won't you kiss me? Susan's going crazy now dreaming about movie stars featured in her magazines rearranging furniture wishing she was manager of her local Walgreens. Pondering the growth of mold sitting on her toilet bowl thinking about slitting her wrists diving through the window and yelling at a paperboy who doesn't even know she exists. Oh Calgon take me away.
