Here's a story that we can all enjoy.
Friday's housewarming-slash-"Hey! We don't have any furniture!" party was a great success. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. There were even the requisite trashy girls who, to my delight, heartily drank down Newcastle Brown Ale (Short story: A friend of mine got very ill at a hipster club in Manchester off of it, ended up leaving said club to throw up, was unable to get back in, and waited in the winter snow for his friends to leave the club. He huddled pitifully in a doorway wearing nothing but a t-shirt -- which makes the story in itself suspect since he was rarely seen not appearing like a mime in his black-and-white striped shirts). The story isn't about them though --
Instead, it's about why I have a huge scab on my lip. You see, Madison's Aunt sent a huge container of chocolate minis with her cousin to our apartment. At one point in the evening, I put half in the mouth and left the other part hanging vulnerably out of my mouth. It was an unwise decision I'll blame on the large-scale vodka consumption of the evening. Even then I should have known better. Madison loves chocolate. She will threaten violence if you say otherwise. Or if you put it near her on this occasion. She charged in, moving to steal the exposed piece of candy, and in process -- she took a chunk of my lip.
I should take a picture of my battle scar.
Instead, it's about why I have a huge scab on my lip. You see, Madison's Aunt sent a huge container of chocolate minis with her cousin to our apartment. At one point in the evening, I put half in the mouth and left the other part hanging vulnerably out of my mouth. It was an unwise decision I'll blame on the large-scale vodka consumption of the evening. Even then I should have known better. Madison loves chocolate. She will threaten violence if you say otherwise. Or if you put it near her on this occasion. She charged in, moving to steal the exposed piece of candy, and in process -- she took a chunk of my lip.
I should take a picture of my battle scar.