Post of shoulds. Not coulds. And definitely not woulds.

Should I admit that I'm now listening to a sonic cure, Deep Forest, from a past moment now frozen in faroff and embellished perfection.
Should I be astonished that the nervous lady at Victoria's Secret referred to my rack as IT when I inquired if she could glance at them and tell me their collective size.
Should I think it's disgusting that I lick the Oban bottle when I'm pouring myself a creativity enhancer and some drips down the side.
Should I refuse to give the two week visitor Henry the Dog back to his errant owner.
Should I sharpie the deadline application for the photo grant on my forehead, which now has a huge bump on it from a workout mishap.
Should I get back to work.
I shoulder deadline responsibility in this perfect world of mine.