"Uh, yeah. I'm gonna need about 16 feet o' plywood, a few panes of glass, some super glue, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a pint of vodka, no ice."
Coco began a little remodeling work on her condo (cardboard box) this morning, and she was on a serious mission.
"You've left me to lounge in this empty piece of crap, so the least you can do is supply me with a few tools to finish up this skylight."
I nodded. "Sure, no problem girly. What else do you plan on doing to the joint?"
"Well, right now it looks like shit. That's easy to see, and of course I blame you for that. So, I'd like you to pay for an 8-person hot tub, probably a 30" plasma flat screen, a stripper pole, and a full-sized refrigerator stocked with booze."
I reached into the cardboard box through a hole I had cut into the side. "Hmm...I don't know Coco, doesn't seem like you're going to have enough room in this box for all the things you want. You might need to scale back a little bit."
She laughed. "You are so simple minded."
Coco hopped out of the box and pulled out a measuring tape. "I figure if we knock down these two walls here and extend my space, oh say, 15-20 feet everything will easily fit."
I kissed her furry nose. "But Coco, you're basically saying you want to put a hot tub where my bed is right now. I won't have any space in the room at this rate. Will you at least let me snuggle up with you in your new posh pad?"
She shook her head no. "I'll let you purchase access passes for the hot tub when I feel like it, but you're going to have to sleep outside. I want this room to look and feel like the back stage area of a Motley Crue show in '86. Losers not welcome."