Sunday afternoon
I'm half-heartedly working on an annual report in front of vintage songvids on the TV. sarren is lying on the floor, periodically making pained noises and reading out particularly alarming lines from a 27,000 word story she started in the almost certain knowledge from the author's notes that it wasn't going to be very good.
Me, after hearing the third sample: Is the story good?
Sarren: No.
Me: Is the writing good?
Sarren: No.
Me: Are you enjoying it?
Sarren: No.
Me: Then why are you reading it?
Sarren: ...I feel I have a duty to the pairing.
Me: [pause] Good answer.
I had the enormous bottlebrush shrubs around the house severely pruned this week as part of my summer fire preparation and had a lot of evidence to destroy. I'd heard they were very flammable and can now confirm that!
Me, after hearing the third sample: Is the story good?
Sarren: No.
Me: Is the writing good?
Sarren: No.
Me: Are you enjoying it?
Sarren: No.
Me: Then why are you reading it?
Sarren: ...I feel I have a duty to the pairing.
Me: [pause] Good answer.
I had the enormous bottlebrush shrubs around the house severely pruned this week as part of my summer fire preparation and had a lot of evidence to destroy. I'd heard they were very flammable and can now confirm that!