TLC

It's at times like these when all I can think of is TLC. TLC for myself, my own kind. It doesn't come cheap. It usually comes in the shape on a lot of shoes (that's what I've been doing these past couple of days), tops, bottoms (not necessarily in that order). Basically I need to own things to give myself my TLC. Which some people might not understand, whereas my kind of people would understand to a T. Can a big girl like me feel so fragile? Oh dear, yes she can. Can she feel as if the world dumped and spat on her? Yes, another yes. So what do I do? I try and look at my cats who think I'm the best mummy on earth, they really do, such gorgeous creatures who (no, not which) know how to give their own kind of TLC. They purr loudly by my side and try to stick their face into mine, which in turn makes me cry. I look at my dogs, who (again the who) also seem to think I'm their greatest mummy, and my dogs understand the biggish issue seeing they are almost as big as I am. Yes it's very true, they're enormous dogs who would frighten anyone but who are just big teddy bears. So what's the matter with humans? Why does the closest man in the world to me think that I'm obnoxious, deviant, sad, silly, too big, pitiful, and not worth his time? Shit this hurts, it hurts even worse seeing the lengths I have gone to protect his VIP privacy from going all over the web. And if my Mister thinks the same as my pets, then does that make him an animal, a pet perhaps? Because if that's the case, I'm just becoming loonier and stocking up on even more cats. I'm just leaving the door ajar just in case any animal wants to come in. Sorry, no human beings.