She’d totally prepared for this as only a Extreme Minimalist Pisces in the Age of Aquarius could.
First, she’d Feng Shuied her vagina. The results had surpassed her expectations. She felt only a noble geniality toward her Scorpio Ex-husband. . Gone were the presumably cervix-eroding hormones of hate.
From now on, Gwyneth would be her Muse in terms of relationship. Hearts were not broken – they were macrobiotically retooled, holistically evolved.
Next, she had emancipated herself from handbag slavery - no way were Freud’s theories about handbags symbolizing the vagina going to scramble her Qi. She gazed with bemusement at the square, boxy studded handbag of the woman across the room. Terrifying. And clearly she probably had NO idea that sage was a powerful magical substance. She probably sprinkled it on fish or something. Ah muggles, she sighed inwardly.
Then she had taken an Alchemy Bath – Epsom Salts, a candle burning, incense and water – all of the elements covered.
Her fingernails were obsidian, finely ground down by a fitter and welder she had consciously coupled with a few moons ago, and added to normal nail varnish, for extra protection. Plus she had tipped a bucket of peroxide and Evian over her head: Hydrogen peroxide has healing properties and she liked to glow gently in the dark.
But Theodora had over looked one vital factor: Mars Retrograde. Not only were men erratic and sometimes suffering from performance issues, they were sluggish and prone to falling asleep on the job.
Next time, she vowed, still irritated by the black boxy studded vagina across the room, she would make them sign a performance contract. And she would wait until Mars was in Scorpio. I mean, holy Hecate, it was not like her theory about the owl dream was dull at all.
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