At age 42, she found herself feeling remarkably her age. Perhaps she had always been this elsuive-to-discern age of 42, or perhaps she had just matured enough to feel comfortable within her own skin. Either way, every day was a new adventure into life, and she embraced every moment of breath. Well, actually, at this point, it was starting to sound more like a mid-life crisis than a full blown Oprah phase. This called for chocolate ice cream (courtesy of all-natural Haagen Daaz) with four maraschino cherries, as opposed to her usual two. One was always up to saving the world when filled with the self-satisfied lethargy only gelato could induce. She’d figure out the next universally mystical crisis after a little self indulgence, and hopefully the EVIL would accomodate her for once.

Meanwhile, according to Murphy’s Law, the demon Blargkshpit got ready to climb out of his designated cubicle of Hell and give the world a good ravaging.

Simultaneously, an angel in the form of a perfectly groomed and coiffed poodle floated to the ground in a dazzling column of the purest light ever witnessed by the neighboring maples and oaks.
“Hey, Sal, thanks for the ride, darling, and don’t forget to use conditioner. Your hair’s fabulous, babe,” it shouted up, presumably to the origin of the Holy Light Express. The poodle took a moment to adjust to its earthly form and surroundings. Its deep pondering abruptly ended as it took a discreet look at its genitals and gave a resounding whoop.
“Yes, ESTROGEN! Finally. You would have thought the Big Guy would get it right the first time.” And she trotted off into the sunset, after having given the oaks and maples more than enough gossip to last them for the rest of their natural lifetimes.

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