Get a job you bum! (Cafas)

Verdy was having a rather unpleasant morning. No hot water seemed to be forthcoming from the taps in her bathroom and for the life of her she couldn’t find a clean pair of jeans, all of them drenched from ankle to knee from walking Jack in the wet grass. Her sneakers were soggy and draining in the bath and her boots had grown a mind of their own and gone wandering, slippers (specifically the green fluffy ones she had bought herself for Christmas) were therefore the only option for her tootsies and the dreaded trackie pants, reserved for washing days and other such emergencies, the only for her legs. Her shirt choices were more varied, but none seemed to match with either her slippers of green furriness or the strip of god-awful pink along each leg of the trackies.

Eventually after much rummaging she had narrowed it down to a yellow and white wide-checked tee or a royal purple baby-doll butt-length dress-type top that she wasn’t quite sure where she got. The purple seemed to go less glaringly with both the pink and the green than the yellow, plus it had sleeves long enough to nullify the need for a jumper in her wanderings between the kitchen and her room.

Verdy checked the water situation again before she left, still the lukewarm chill that suggested the next door neighbour who shared the hot water system had been soaking in a hot bath all night (which was in fact exactly what the young woman had been doing, having been sultana-ed in front of the heating duct she had spent the whole night topping up the bath with hot water in an attempt to return herself to her grapey mutant glory) so Verdy was doomed to wander the halls with bed hair topping off her less than glamorous combo. Not her best look.

After ensuring that Jack’s bowls were full of both food and water she shoved her keys into her oh-so-comfy pocket and wandered down to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. Aside from one snide snigger from what seemed to be a porcupine mutant, with quills instead of hair prickling out from under his cap, she made it to the table without incident. Her plate holding an assortment of jammed toast and her bowl was full of breakfast bubbles that simultaneously ‘snapped’, ‘crackled’ and ‘popped’ as she scooped at them with her spoon. Her attention was focused on the food, and she nommed in relative peace.