Right, so. I'm now officially adding "my parents drunk" to the list of things that I would Never Like To See Again, Ever. Especially when they ended up getting completely shitefaced on, of all things, prissy brand-name chocolate liqueur. Who even does that, besides randy Sixth Year girls who fancy themselves foxy and cultured? No one, that's who,
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Also, I think it's only 'scarring for life' if they tried to conceive a new sibling for you while the others watched. And then the planets have to align a little more, so they have to be on the coffee table with the family photo album supporting your mum. Preferably opened to your first day of school? Scarring for life is a pretty big deal.
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And how are you, Marlene? Scarring, drinking, groping, partying, bitching, and other participles aside?
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Except I should resolve to get a hobby. Now that the Ministry thinks we can't go for a carton of milk without being kidnapped and I can't stay in the flat very long without being the one to fake a kidnapping (my own or someone else's.)
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And great. Do you know where The Laughing Dingo is? About two blocks from King's College, off Snowsfields and onto Kipling Street.
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Excellent, I've heard of it and I'll be over shortly. Provided I'm neither kidnapped nor Splinched horribly in the meantime.
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