I wonder if she's ever read Jane Eyre and if she understood what it was really about. Her toes curl, moving the blood
upwards - she needs to keep healthy after all and oxygenating her tissues helps her to do that. Continuing to think angelic
thoughts, she goes to her bedroom, carefully folds her sheets so that the center is concealed, and begins to
carry them downstairs. Bemused but only a little annoyed, her housemate asks her, "Did you have a PROBLEM last night?"
"What do you mean?" she asks. "The whole HOUSE was shaking!" she complains. "I'm SO sorry, I was dancing!"
"Oh - - *I* see!" she says. "CARRY on! :) " She darts down the stairs but stubs her angel toe on the last step.
"FUCK!" she cries out. She angrily tosses the sheets into the washer, starts it up, and heads up the stairs, moving herself closer and closer
to our first orgasmic ecstacy as we finally show each other how much we love and desire each other with all our perfection of
human frailty and ineptitude. She sighs, wondering where the f. I am and what's taking me so long....