Shame...no, I am far past shame. And desperation I just shot in the face.
The water I let get blistering hot.
All I really remember is some seemingly endless scraping against a macaroni-encrusted pan and the prick of a steak knife against my finger hidden under some strategically placed soap suds. The Bastards.
I think Amber should call me (because I enjoy awkward, forced moments of [non]conversation). Certainly I would have done so myself, during the more apathetic evenings, if her cell phone wasn't anew.
871-2908. Because her memory is bad. And she dislikes chocolate.
All I really remember is some seemingly endless scraping against a macaroni-encrusted pan and the prick of a steak knife against my finger hidden under some strategically placed soap suds. The Bastards.
I think Amber should call me (because I enjoy awkward, forced moments of [non]conversation). Certainly I would have done so myself, during the more apathetic evenings, if her cell phone wasn't anew.
871-2908. Because her memory is bad. And she dislikes chocolate.