stoney321 | Help Me, Writer Types: You're My Only Hope.

I need to tweak a joke. You have it in you, I feel it. I BELIEVE IN YOU.

In this chapter (of Oh My Heck! I'm gonna try. Again. Sigh) I'm talking about how when the guys would go away on missions for two years, we girls were encouraged to sit in cold storage and wait for them, right? So all we did was can fruit and quilt things, and I'm trying to equate it to a [__something something__] trousseau. Like a bizarre fruity trousseau.

And that's not right.

*chin fists* Suggestions? Also, good god, it is no wonder I'm broken inside. But damn, do I have a sweet apocalypse pantry of peaches. In your face, undead!