Livin' in a Hamster Paradise

As I walk across the rugs of the master bathroom
I take a look at my foot and realize it's not too soon
'Cause I been limpin' and gripin' so long
That even my mom knows that something is wrong

But I ain't never crossed a man that didn't deserve it
Okay yes I did but I'm sure you understand--Hick!
This time he's gone too far trackin' junk in on his boots
We need to have a talk but the point is prob'ly moot

Been spendin' too much time, livin' in a hamster paradise

Vallio has an issue. That issue is the ruthless boot hygiene of one Hick Thevictorian. That man tracks in enough flotsam and jetsam to clog the big drain hole at the bottom of the ocean. A girl-foot ain't safe in a bathroom full of Hick. I cannot walk across the tile and rugs without having tiny pebbles or hunks of cedar shavings stick to the bottom (heh, heh, I said bottom) of my feet. That man needs a little dude with a push broom to follow him through the house. Just when I think the area is safe, my tender princess heel is jabbed again.

Oh, don't think for one hot New York minute that Hick's donations are confined to the bathroom. Nope. This house would make a good hamster cage. Now that you're thinking it (don't deny it, I see it in your thought bubble), Val DOES resemble one of those Kia car-driving hamsters. With a bit less flashy wardrobe, of course.

The floor is lined with cedar chips. There is a plethora of paper from CASE Knife adds to auto insurance cards to scrappy receipts that can be shredded by my pointy teeth in the event I come down with a nesting mood, and the steps up and down to my dark basement lair are my exercise wheel. Some might even say my cheeks look like those of a hamster when stuffed full of food pellets and bedding material.

Yes. Vallio is living in a hamster paradise.