Wanda is one of those ridiculous people you want to exhibit. She isn’t just ludicrous in appearance, it is her constant bragging.
Wanda brags and makes these loud near hysterical blasts of self promotion. If she were not living with the most grungy Bunga Boy in creation, then maybe…just maybe something she says might…just might be given credance.
But there she is, bragging about her lofty status and there’s her Bunga Boy, picking his nose.
Now he’s not some stupid guy who ‘loves’ her, nor is he a useful jerk who can be entrusted to drive her about. He is dumb, unskilled, untalented, without the least redeeming quality.
So there is Wanda, babbling like a toilet with a broken flushometer, shouting when anyone dares to correct or contradict, and there’s her ‘husband’, the Bunga Boy.
At one point, she decided it is time to get rid of her Bunga Boy.
It was one of those long drawn out dramas, seasoned with moments of peculiar arguments about nothing much, critiques of what had been his standard style and his behaviour during the years she’d been linked with him.
Why now seems to suggest that she found another one. A bit more useful than this one and is deciding on replacement.
How Wanda got rid of her Bunga Boy, however, is an art.
She found faults, she nit picked, she annoyed him to bits, and she cut the purse string. All this over a period of about five months. Just a bit here, a bit there, staying in a permanent bad mood.
Now, she decides he has to leave.
He has a place to go, that was one of the arguments; spending money he didn’t have to fix up his mother’s house.
She rings up all she knows to make her announcements, finding flaws where they always existed but could not be mentioned.
This is her Third Bunga Boy in four years. She knows how to pick ’em and how to dispose of them.