“It Starts When You’re Always Afraid–Step Outta Line–The MAN Come And Take You Away.”

“Lance, You Lie. Not Really–Not Over-Much.–Not Anyhow Brown Cow.

Not Really.

My Word is-My-Bond-Age:

This All Truthfully Happened–Just As I Wrote It.

I Caint Make This Shit Up–

“Paranoia Strikes Deep–

Into Your Life It Will Creep”

POT--That's What!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

“Any resemblance to persons living or dead should be plainly apparent to them and those who know them, especially if the author has been kind enough to have provided their real names and in some cases, their phone numbers.

All events described herein actually happened, though on occasion the author has taken certain, very small liberties with chronology, because that is his right as an American. Warning: this story will [eventually] have drugs in it [specifically, Pot] read at your own annoyance.”

–Stolen From Various Sources while illegally surfing the internet using a U.S. Government Network and Computer

*********************

It was the Summer of ’77  and I had just dropped out of college (yet once again).

There was an old friend of mine from high school living in Lake Charles, and pretty much on a bet I loaded up my ’68 Chevy Impala and drove to Louisiana to look him up.

Of course I had no idea where he lived in Lake Charles or what he was even doing there, but I knew Kim John and I knew that he would not be difficult to find even in a town of over one-hundred-thousand.

Really all I had to do was to find McNeese State University and ask around.

For you see, Kim Jim/John was probably the most charismatic, outgoing, affable guy on Earth and I knew that even if he had only spent one week in Lake Charles, everyone would know him or know of him. He went to East Texas State in Commerce just long enough to pledge and become a Kappa Alpha.

That was his only driving ambition in life: to become a KA like his big brother and hang out with the Brothers. I despised Greeks and all their ways.

(Still today, these are not my favorite people. Kim James was my best friend, next to Peanut, and for many years before, even though we did not see eye-to-eye on many things and most especially, things Greek.)

It took me all of about 45 minutes to locate him once I arrived.

He was living large in a beautiful apartment complex close to the university in the best apartment they had to offer: Two-story with four bedrooms, a large den/living room, three baths, a decent sized kitchen with a breakfast nook, a porch facing the pool—‘Classy” is all I could say when he showed me around.

He had a stereo in every room (All of them ‘Marantz’ because years before I had told him

“Marantz makes the best,

(and most expensive)

Audio equipment you can buy”. He apparently never had forgotten that and I was properly impressed. Kim Jim always did his best it seems to impress me.

To this day I am not sure why. It was just his way. Actually it was probably because I was the only one who really knew he was a fake and he knew that I knew.

In addition to the large pool, there were two tennis courts, a game room, outdoor dining room, a sauna, and all the ‘beautiful’ people of McNeese lived there, or so it seemed to my small-town eyes.

One of the upstairs rooms had a balcony overlooking the pool and the tennis courts. Wonderful.

*****************

Against my better judgment, I will continue this story, if I get just one request. It is rather long…

Someone let me know, but be not hasty in your remarks, as this one could land that fictional character in prison.

Is the prose worth it?

Well, the story is just that good, so I suppose so, since the author will be the one to do the hard time.

I never gave two shits for the heat anyhow…

(In light of recent events in NYC, I retract the above statement, 22 December, 2014)

But… Young Neil Young in this vid. Look closely…

Buffalo-springfield-for-what-its-worth

Paranoia strikes deep

Into your life it will creep

It starts when you’re always afraid

Step out of line, the man come and take you away

–Old Hippy Saying

Next Part of the Story Here

BUGS

“Roach Motel”

Might Meet The Requirements of a Good Sea Story:

This is a

“No-Shitter”

*****

My Life on Rinse and Repeat:

Ed. Note: Lance would kill all the bugs in the Watergate Hotel, the Pentagon, and the White House for JUST one affectionate sideways glance from Bobbie Gentry

SEE YA! WE BE OUTTA HERE!

BUGS!

I LOVE You Bobbie Gentry!

“Hey Look At me! With the DDT!”

Naw, that would be ‘against-the-law!’

And your point is?

Hehehehe…evil laugh

“Hey MS Muse, Reach me that spray can of DDT: The one we got from the feed store.

Oh! And ‘Please & Thank You’ in Advance.”

(Don’t need no more ‘Muse-ic Drama’)

She put down her Rubik’s Cube, grabbed the DDT can and bounced it off my head.

That’s my Gal!

Video Credit: benjichilders

More Unsolicited ‘Opinion’ From Y’all’s Favorite Asshole: C’est Moi.

“Donovan:”

ChildKing of The Boy Wonder, One-Hit Wonders:

“Atlantis” Way down below the fuckin’ Ocean. You shoulda remained there. Dear Donnie. Just sayin’.

Bobbie Gentry Did him a Solid by even allowing him on her TV show.

How lame was he?

Trust me: The Math breaks down at this point.

But He was Pretty-Boy Lame

******************

So… I’m sleeping one off when I felt something tickling.

Woke up and discovered a rather plumpish large roach parked on my nose.

(Had to go cross-eyed to look at him—yes, I am assuming gender here—my bad)

He jumped off my nose onto my chin.

Then he spoke to me:

“Hey Bubba, we be outta here.”

Still half-asleep and somewhat groggy, all I could muster was, “Whaaat?”

Mister Roach continued, “We are leaving your Dumb Ass.”

I bolted upright, causing Mister Roach to tumble onto my mattress.

“Take a gander Mutha Fukker!” He shouted out of his Little Roach Lips.

But I heard him well enough.

Focused my eyes on the floor. Sure as shit, there was a single file line of cockroaches, some carrying suitcases, some wearing backpacks, all marching quick-time toward my back door. I looked up and saw a squadron of gnats flying over the marching roaches, providing air-cover I quickly surmised.

Spokesman Roach was preparing to jump off my mattress, but before he leapt down to join his comrades, he turned to me and said, “Don’t you wanna know why we are leaving your sorry ass?”

“Not really,” I replied. “But I figure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“Damn Skippy Asshole.”

“Well, get it off your chest then. Does your kind have chests, by the way? I have spent many a sleepless night pondering this heavy mystery.”

“Very Funny You Schmuck,” He shot back.

He coughed up some vile phlegm, depositing it on my mattress.

And continued, “For your edification (This was a literate Roach, with a solid command of The Queen’s English) For your edification, he repeated, we have thoraxes.”

“I am praying you will soon arrive-at-the-point,” I said.

He obliged:

“Here is our list of grievances,” He said, handing me a sheet of toilet paper. “Read and Weep. Then wipe your ass.”

I perused the paper and discovered this Piercing Eloquence:

“To Wit, Please Discover Below Our Valid and Legitimate Justifications For ‘Buggin’ Out.”

(I had to laugh at that—This Roach had a sense of humor—who knew?)

I continued my read:

  • This ‘Host Human’ is a nasty son of a bitch—no shower in weeks—even by our standards, this is beyond the pale
  • There is no uneaten food anywhere to be found in this ‘Mouse House’
  • The ‘Music’ he plays (too loudly) assaults our sensibilities and disrupts our concentration
  • He has been known to spray, indiscriminately, recklessly, RAID at our brother and sister gnats, thus branding him as a ‘Mass-Murderer’
  • He is ugly and disgusting
  • He is stupid

“Seems to me Y’all have put a great deal of thought into this… uh… ‘Declaration of Independence,” I said, handing him back his manifesto.

“Yes, we have. Now will you kindly get the door so that we may make good our departure?”

“Sure,” I said. But one question before you ‘Bug Out.”

“Make it quick Jerk; we have somewhere to be.”

“Where are you going? What will Y’all do?”

“Never mind what we will do. Just get the damn door.”

“But how will you get to where you are going?”

“If you must know, there is a ‘Roach Coach’ headed here as we speak. Catch ya laters.”

I opened the door and waited until the Caboose of the Bug Train made it out into the parking lot. I stood in the doorway and lo’ and behold, I saw a Roach Coach (Meskin, judging by the paint scheme on the vehicle). Seemed fitting I suppose: La Cucaracha.

Even though MY Roaches were all Texican/American Roaches and spoke even less Meskin than me.

I wished them well.

Oh Well.

I suppose they could learn. MY Roaches were not idiots. I mean, under good leadership, they had the intelligence to abandon a sinking ship.

I stepped back into my hooch; shut and locked the door; sat down on my bed. Was thinking,

“Well fuck them! My Ingrate Pets. I need to adopt a Dog, or a Cat, or an Armadillo, or an Ant Farm of Fire Ants—any one of which would be more loyal.”

As I was sitting there feeling all alone and abandoned, I became aware of a funky odor and it was ME!

So I spent ‘An Hour In The Shower.’

“I dream of things I can’t say, or I’ll get put away.”

******

To Put A Cork In This Story:

Never put your Faith in Roaches or Gnats. They are fickle and never loyal. They will not stand by you during the lean times.

Get Yourself an Armadillo.

Cheers Y’all!

P.S., “Never hit your Mother with a Shovel. It leaves a Dull Impression on Her Mind.”

–Butch Cassidy

****

Just for you, Donavan:

Credit where Credit is Due:

This was/is a great Song.

Too bad it is all you had in you.

But Hey! Ride that Fame-Train.

Until you run outta track

Video Credit: Carlos Lara

By the way, Donovan, you ain’t no Cat Stevens

Sorry:  ‘Yusuf Islam’

(Difficult to keep up with all you ‘stars’ name changes—Identity changes.)

“Yusuf Islam’—Gag me with the ‘Woke-Ness’ Monster spoon, but Cat,

Your wonderful music supersedes your lame-ass identity politics.”

Hey Cat/‘Yusuf!

I’m still looking for ‘That Hard-Headed Woman.

HBO?

Help a brother out?

And Cat/Yusuf, I too have known a lot of fancy dancers.

They need not apply.

I am in the Crusade of ‘REAL.’

****

Oh shit! A sudden fear comes upon me:

“What if MS Muse swerves into this post?”

I’ll tell ya what:

It will not be a pleasant experience for your humble servant, that’s what.

P.P.S., I LOVE The Art.

I Give zero shits about the ‘Artists’ Politics.

I love and Appreciate The ART

These sentiments of mine are well-documented in these pages.

One Last Addendum for You, Cat/Yusuf:

My Ph.D.,

University Prof/Third wife

said these words to me shortly after Cat Stevens changed his ‘Religion’ (and his name) from whatever-it-was to Islam:
“I always knew he was ‘that way.’”
“What way?” I asked.
“Islamic- Ass-Misogamist,” she said.
“You do not know that,” I said back. “You are ignorant on this topic.”
She stormed away.

Needless to say, I did not get laid that day.
And for many days thereafter.
Bitch saved grudges like cash money.

One of the MOST Beautiful (And Sexy Desirable) Women On This Planet. I am so Hopelessly Infatuated With Her! “SANDRA B! You Can Have Me! All of Me. Every Part of Me”

Willie Nelson – All of Me:

Cred for Vid: Carias205

***

Anytime.

Any Place!

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;…”

Credit: Kelly Cheng

***

She Amazes Me!

She Enchants Me!

“Sandra! What Can I say?”

She is Enchanting.

I May Have Lost My Feeble Sanity!

If looks could kill

I May Have Lost My Feeble Mind

Vid Compile Cred: Funny Fancy

It’s a ‘Sandra Kinda Day’

"Love" is a Four Letter Word
So is "Lust"

I Am Way Lost in Sandra Space Today.
Okay?

*****

I Can Relate:

Never Hesitate

Too Many Daze

B4 I Wake Up

She Invaded My Mind

“Of course he had a gun.

This is Texas; everyone has a gun”

*****

Bonus Track.

Don’t Even Ask Why.

Cred for Vid: Chadman2000

Lance! Lance! LANCE!!! Take a Fuckin’ Break! Get Over Yourself! Added More Navy SEAL SHIT! “Part Two of a Sailor’s Scholarly Series on U.S. Naval History in The South Pacific”

When last we left our Boys they had arrived at Viva Young not unlike victorious Roman Legionaries returning from Gaul—The Conquering Heroes—welcomed with gleeful squeals of joy and happiness by The Girls.

A little more detail on Viva Young The Establishment, and more than a little more detail on ‘Mama-San’ is in order here.

Upon first entering, immediately on the left was ‘Mama San’s ‘Office,’ which was simply an enclosed counter with an ancient cash register, a small table lamp, a perpetually over-flowing ashtray, and a counter sign which read: “No Credit.”

Every bar or club had a ‘Mama San’—‘Manager’ to put it into Western Parlance. I had a bit of a history with this Mama San.

(Yes we were ‘Fuck Buddies’)

We were roughly the same age and found each other mutually attractive. She was tall for a Filipina, just a little bit chunky with shoulder length reddish brown hair which she kept in a semi-perm.

Or perhaps it kept her; maybe that was its natural state. Dark brown eyes and the ‘Ornamental’ version of The ‘Shonnie’ Voice—semi-coarse and gruff.

She did volunteer work for the mayor of Olongapo and was quite well-read, savvy, and politically astute. She wanted a career in government. But first she had a bar to run and girls to manage. In this regard she was all cold business.

When on liberty in Olongapo I generally spent the night with Mama San. She lived with her mother and a sister and a brother and a few children in a fairly decent (though small) house about a mile from Viva Young.

She was supporting the entire family and was never ‘hesitate’ to hit me up for contributions to her domicile.

“You gonna pay my bar fine?” Were some of the first ‘personal’ words she said to me on the night I ‘proposed’ to her, which was what seemed like eons before this particular port visit.

Some clarification: Subic Bay is a ‘working port’ not a ‘liberty port’. It is just like being in San Dog, only ‘with benefits.’

But still a working port.

Hence, during this particular Westpac deployment, we would find ourselves in Subic Bay every month or so ostensibly for resupply, but mainly because we were schlepping about six hundred US Marines around the South Pacific.

The Frederick LST 1184 is what is known as a ‘Gator Freighter.’ The ‘LST’ stands for ‘Tank Landing Ship.’ And yes I know the acronym is ass-backwards—‘Landing Ship, Tank’—My Navy is kind of Dyslexic.

Anyway, our primary purpose, our only purpose, our whole raison d’être is to ferry Marines about, dropping them and their AAV’s ‘Amphibious Assault Vehicles’ off at various beaches throughout the region.

“You call. We haul.”

That is the mantra of the Amphib Navy.

So Much Fun!

So we’d drop off the kids, head back out to sea and return a few days later to pick up all the ones who had not drown in the surf-zone. And sadly, I am not joking. We lost a half-dozen or so during that deployment.

Marines really cannot swim for shit and are not benefitted by the ‘Drown-Proofing’ training they teach at BUD/s (SEAL Boot-Camp, which if you recall, your humble author had been through.)

Twice.

“Drown Proofing”

It’s Great Fun!

HELL WEEK!

HELL YEAH

HOOYAH!!

I Did All this Shit!

Twice!

No Brag!

Just Fact!

“The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday”

–SEAL saying

***

Back to Mama:

Upon our first meeting, we were working on our mutual attraction. Using all my debonair wily Texan/Sailor charms, I broached the subject of “Let me take you away from all this.” (After closing time of course)

“You pay my bar fine. OK?”

“But you’re Mama-San. How can you have a bar fine?”

“You pay bar fine.”

I paid.

For the uninitiated, if one wishes the solitary company and undivided attention of a working bar girl, one must make payment to the Mama-San: the girl’s ‘bar fine.’ Call it a ‘handling fee’ if you must be so callous.

And while I am on THAT subject, allow me to inform you, I never paid any bar fines of any young girls for sex.

I did not believe in it. There is much I will explain in future installments regarding this, but for now, suffice it to say that this sailor is an Honorable Man.

Fancy

Bobbie Gentry – (1969)

Street Cred for Vid: kelly heisler

***

But Mama-San is a different matter because she was a woman, not a girl.

I knew ‘the score’ and she kept the score. I happily donated to her cause to keep her score card to the positive and in the black.

What did I need money for anyway? We had a convenient relationship and we were genuinely fond of each other as far as it went.

And to my mind, she was doing good work. She was ‘Mother’ to her girls and sincerely looked out for their well being.

She could spot a potentially abusive sailor or marine in an instant and would never allow same to leave the bar with one of her girls.

Ever.

And if by some chance she needed help with showing some asshole the door, there were the three of us Fast Freddy Sailors and the regular marines to provide assistance, not that Mama-San ever really needed it.

***

Running the length of the bar was the ‘stage’ or ‘cat walk’. Or picture a runway, similar to what one might find in a very low-rent fashion show.

***

Bordering this runway on three sides was a narrow counter top: narrow-minded and horse-shoe-shaped. The open end faced the door and Mama San’s watchful eye. Strings of lights hung precariously from the ceiling. Bar stools (ancient and uncomfortable) finished the Spartan scene.

The bar girls would line up on the runway and dance to the music from the equally ancient jukebox. Yes, this was best unflatteringly described as a ‘Meat Market’. But then, that was Olongapo in ‘89.

Matt, Rogers, and I knew all the girls. (Just not in the Biblical Sense). I suspect knew some were under age. If you’d ask one hundred bar girls in Olongapo where they were from, you’d get one hundred same pat answers:

“I from da Pra’bince (Province). I make money so go to college.”

I never met a single lil gal (see how easily I throw in some Texan Bullshit Vernacular to gloss over the horrible reality?) who told me she wasn’t actually from Olongapo. Nope, these were all ‘country gals’ with aspirations for higher education brought from ‘The Province’.

Their true aspiration was to marry a U.S. Serviceman and get the hell out of the Philippines.

And who could blame them? Many a young Sailor or Marine, after having his first sexual encounter fell in love with a Filipina and did fulfill her dream. They would marry and the new bride would move to San Diego.

Within a few months the rest of the family would be sent for: Mama, Daddy, Baby Sis, Baby Bro, Big Sis, Big Bro, real cousins, faux cousins, best friends, et cetera. This was known as the ‘Filipino Pipeline’.

Sadly, more often than not, once secured with U.S. Citizenship and the rescue of her family, the new bride would divorce her Sailor or Marine and make her way headlong into The American Dream, never once looking back and leaving the husband wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

I never felt sorry for the cuckolds. I was a cruel son of a bitch back then and secretly, as a perpetual con and huckster, I was always for the Filipinas anyway.

Actually everything always went wrong with such arrangements.

Well wrong for the sailor/marine.

But right for the ‘Girl-from-da-Pra’bince.’

The Girl from Ipanema

Artists: Astrud Gilberto, João Gilberto and Stan Getz

Street Cred for Vid: catman916

“If you hold sand too tightly in your hand it will run through your fingers.”

–Joni Mitchell (Telegram she sent from Crete to Graham Nash in CA, 1970)

***

Part One Here:

Part Three coming soon.

“The Gnats Are Back” Or “Gnat Pool Party” You Pick Yer Own Title. (As It May Suit You)

The Gnats are Back!

Now… where did I put that DDT?

Bobbie?

Girl! Reach me that DDT!

BUGS!

Shared Vid Cred: benjichilders

So, I am tryin’ real hard

(Yes it is hard. Hey! Get Yer Mind Outta That Gutter!)

Tryin’ real hard to tone down on the drinkin’.

Poured me a ‘HALF-GLASS’ of wine, (Not much more than would fill a hen’s ear) into a ‘Normal’ wine glass as opposed to my usual, ‘Barrel Glass Runneth Over.’

NE-Way….

Phone started ringing (as it sometimes do)

Set my glass on the counter and waltzed over to pick-up the phone:

“Hello,” I said.

Voice on the line asked,

“Is this Lance Marcom?”

“Might be. What do you want?”

“Mister Marcom, I am Helga with Corporation Blah, Blah, Blah. Our records indicate you are two months in arrears. When may we expect a payment to your account?”

“Let me get back to you on that.

My Fridge is running and I need to go catch it before it escapes.
Bye now.”

*Click*

Remembered my ‘Left-all-alone’ wine glass.

Went back to re-capture it and take it hostage for my liver.

Discovered the Gnats were having a Gnat Pool Party in MY POOL. Doing back-flips, canon balls, and competitive diving off the rim of my glass.

I rescued my glass and drank down the wine along with the Fun-Loving Gnats.

“That’ll teach ‘em, by God!”
I said to no one in particular.

*****

Footnote to the Story:

After taking Inventory, Discovered I was Dangerously low-on-Booze.

Needed to go shopping next day.

Gonna go down and shop at

“The Tom Waits Booze Emporium & Bicycle Shoppe”

Cheers Y’all!

Not Sure I Should Re-post This One. Shhhh! There may be Yankees Lurking about.

Honestly, I don’t even remember ‘building’ it. Oh Well, I must have; it has my Name Attached. “I LOVE SOUTHERN! Revisit Please! I Put A Lot of My Time & Inebriated Energy / Soul Into It. HAHAHAHA! (Never mind–Move Along–Nothin’ To See Here)

This Below is Brilliance in a Bottle!

Watch it Mister / Misses

Gideon checked out, and he left it no doubt”

(Just as Lance is About to–Happy Trails And Good Luck Humanity!)

“Rocky Raccoon”

Vid Cred: A Headsup

I LOVE SOUTHERN!

Cliff Notes/Teaser Version:

Full Album.

Must Listen,

or if not,

Why Are You Even Here?!

Vid Cred for Share:WCW

***

Now some might say Brother Dave was a racist and they would probably be right, but I am posting these bits because I love the way he talks politics and specifically about “Daddy Bird.”

Author’s Note: I love Brother Dave becuz he was always so up-beat—Never Down! Just a Happy Man (and a drug addict)–which killed him in the end, but we have his work to cherish and to hold. And to revisit again and again and again. Caint take that away from me!

https://texantales.com/2021/08/31/lyndon-johnson-just-another-schmuck-lookin-out-for-his-nuts/

I really don’t think Bro Dave was racist in his heart. Most things he said were tongue-in-cheek, but that is just my opinion.

“See? I don’t drink alcohol, ’cause I don’t want no fat liver… but that ain’t no testimony. You may have your liver to do as you please.”

“But you talk so much politics!” I’m sick and tired of politics!”

What I’m re-reading right now:

(Yes! I’ve Read Them All!)

 

220px-Robert_caro_2012

Added Value:

PREACH IT STEVE!

My Brother!

In  Disarm & Harm Those 

MOTHER-F^KERS! “

“i cAME hOME wITH A bRAND-nEW pLAN”

(yEAH! aLL  cAPs KEY IS sTILl wREwReCkR’D) noT To meNenTinTIOoN sPEeil chEk IS fUcKeD

White Trash?

C’est Moi!

I LOVE YOU BROTHER DAVE!!!!

YOU ENRICHED MY LIFE!!!!

YOU ROCK JERRY!

*********

BAREFOOT JERRY & THE CDB!

Charlie!

Saw Him Perform Once Live at Some Casino in Vegas–IF I am honest–And Y’all Know I Always Am–His Live Show That Night… SUCKED!

I WAS VERY DISAPPOINTED!

So I went and got drunker

And dropped Two Grand at the Blackjack Tables.

Just To drown my sorrows

ELVIN! (NOT ELVIS!)

MORE ‘ELVIS!’ HAHAHAHAHAHA!

****

JANIS!

MY LOVE

BOBBIE G!

MAIN LOVE – OF – MY – LIFE!

This song Haunts My DREAMS AT Night

Because I am Suicidal!

Cred for Vid Share: Mettz Musik

************

BUGS!

SOUTHERN BUGS!

Don’t F*ck Around With Them

(They Doan Play!)

THANK YOU Lynyrd!

JUST A LIL’ OL’ BAND FROM TEJAS!

MY MAN!

Marshall Tucker Band!

Don’t Get Much More ‘Southern’

(Or TEXAN)

Than This!

***

Author’s NOTE:

I’ll Get Around to Crediting All The Vid Sharer’s

But NOT

Now!

I am too Drunk to BE BOTHERED!

RIGHT NOW!

AT THIS MOMENT!

***

My Darling!

My Texan!

My TEXAS DARLING!

Tanya!

You’re Such a Slut!

Yeah, I LOVE You That Much!

***

Yeah!

I’m Southern!

***

Related For Steve Earle!

Sellin’ Dope and Whiskey!

***

“So I Had One more For desessert”

Kris!

(Brownsville, Texas)

Poignant

Too Much So!

DaughterS

I need!

OnE!

One thAt willl Love Me!

N’ MaTTer Not

Vid Cred: Who Gives a Shit at This Point?

Obviously I don’t because I am breakin’ my Own Rules!

NEVER MESS WITH ME

I AM INSANE

I WILL KILL YOU!

THRICE!

THEN

I will stand over your dead self

And Laugh

***

FIVE o’cLOK

Now wHat?

“And The Wind…

Blows Me Like A Paper Cup…

Down The Highway…”

Cred: Bee Doubya!

“I got a long long ride”

Hazel Eyes

She’s Not too Pretty…

But a beautiful smile!

She just said…