Where's my socks was only the start. I am a elderly victim of sock-stealing teenagers and now they are taking liberties.
Where's my vintage sunglasses and its not even sunny.
I will rant if I want to, because my boy is putting the die, before the ball, before the ill, before the call and spelling diabolical. I do not want to hear the call of death with or without an illness, just yet.
And as a living person still, I want not only my socks, I want my sunglasses, the heritance will have to wait