Carlos and Candies

I mean, "Carols and Candles" -- yeah, I am too sick to be drinking, driving, and estimating value. I'm about forty percent sure I'm going to die and I don't mean in the pseudo-profound each-hour-wounds way, I mean in the wtf mate way, speaking of which, who ever thought it was a good idea to -- nevermind, just figured it out. But thanks for the complex, you're a pal. Apples and oranges are different but they are both fruit and go rotten; spoil, in some circles. Speaking of which, I knew her name by the vanity plate on her Range and naturally, I was expecting a trophy of a wife, but she was pretty average and no prettier than. What is it, then, that makes her man spoil her, the house, the life, the personalized Range, the doting doting doting, not that I'm envious, just curious, well, maybe a little envious, but I wouldn't trade, so what makes a man -- nevermind, just figured it out. Besides, I would, and I offer you my most resolute assurances that I am not being histrionic, kill any husband of mine that said, "She has too much time on her hands," when he is referring to my projects. You can have your Range.