Behold, Innerneterz . .
This is what Miss Spoken's dining room looks like every morning at 9:15.
What you don't see are the scratches on the floor from a chair that somebody dragged across the boards with about as much care as somebody who could give a fuck. You don't see the crumbs on the table or the months of maple syrup drippings that The Boy has been collecting for about a year now. You also don't see Miss Spoken's broken heart because what she really wants is a dining room plucked from the heart of the wine country. But despite what HGTV tells you, it's not easy nor is it cheap to find an appropriately weathered barn door in a salvage yard and 30 minutes later you're sipping wine and nibbling cracked crab at your very own salvaged barn door dining room table.
What you are seeing is the aftermath of The Boy and Boss Lady preparing for school. Their routine is always the same. Always.
Awake before 6:00, they immediately head to the dining room for thirty minutes of coloring in over-sized coloring books (see the torn out page positioned under the table like a dwarfed area rug?) and they search for the glitter glue that Miss Spoken has hidden because she knows The Devil made glitter glue and good parents don't give their children toys made by The Devil. They create indoor blizzards by cutting paper, any paper, into impossibly small triangles and smile as the paper flurries dance toward the floor to create a mess that they won't be around to clean up. And they color and argue and cut paper and fight and roll bouncy balls made out of some kind of super NASA rubber until Miss Spoken cannot stand it anymore.
She gets up, fumbles her way to the Get-Up-And-Go-Juice (not to be confused with her other Get-Up-And-Go-Juice that's shaped like a Chardonnay bottle). Then and only then does The Boy get his waffles and Boss Lady get her cereal. This is followed by thirty minutes of Sponge Bob's annoying cackle being drilled into Miss Spoken's head until she is sure, yes, she is positive that The Devil made him too. More blessed coffee. Clothes to put on, lunches to pack, mohawks to gel, tangles to brush, tears to wipe, shoes to find, weather to check, gloves to wrestle (why is it so hard for little fingers to fit little gloves?) and out the door. Then back in the door because something important was left behind ... more coffee.
And that's why Miss Spoken's dining room looks like this every morning at 9:15.
Except this morning. Because on this morning, Miss Spoken will be taking this pile of boxes . . .
. . . and turning them into something spectacular.
And by spectacular, she means not the iron and glass patio furniture that she's been living with. And she's going to do this all by herself because she knows that you know that she knows she is awesome.
So awesome, that by noon it looks like this:
Please hold your applause, it's embarrassing.
Miss Spoken assures you that after this photo was taken, she returned to the garage, allen wrenches in hand and banged out some furniture. Everything, that is, except the actual table because that shit was heavy and there was a table extension to contend with and Miss Spoken's body was telling her it was wine time and she's never wrong about that.
So Puppet Boy took over.
And now here is a picture of Miss Spoken laying naked on Verona, her new table:
Okay, so she's not actually in the picture because she's the one who took the picture but she was naked. And then she totally made out with Verona.