The desk was positioned so that the fire warmed the back of the chair and for no reason at all (that she could think of) she remembered the smell of perms.
The wine was not her favourite, but it was cheap if you bought it by the case.
The boy who looks nothing like her knows that four plus three equals seven and eats fresh asparagus stalks for tea while the other one plays they might be giants for the millionth time that week and even where do they make balloons has started to give her the shits.
The skeleton pyjamas have not dried in time to be worn tonight and neither have her favourite pillowcases.
But she does all her worrying during the day and thinks she will use the night to sleep. She swigs again at the red just to make sure, and she is sorry that at the very moment she was standing at the cheese counter today she had remembered that she does not want to put on any more weight, so there was no camembert or blue vein to be had for another week.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Hungary isn't hungry
French fries aren't from France
Turkeys aren't from Turkey
They can't fly but they can dance
But where...
C'mon, how can you not love that song, even after 20 listenings?
Twenty million times. This week. Twenty million times this week.
I will hide the CD again soon, and then when it comes out again I will be able to love the song again. Because yes, you are right, it is hard not to love that song.
Post a Comment