After a long day of stuffing myself with practically all kinds of rubbish, I have come to the delicious conclusion: no amount of coffee, tea, crisps, chocks or healthy glasses of water comes near the explosion of flavors from something simple as a... melon.
I just got asked if I'm drunk.
But Blondie is perving on Clifton beach while the other two siblings are doing the usual thing: work. Maybe I fell in love with the taste of melons to combat the mundane monotone persistence of work appearing on my desk. But I'm not drunk.
The conversation leading to the question went as follows:
A: "The Witch is on Clifton beach"
C: "I know. The Tart has sent an sms about it. She'll be coming home with all sorts of things she had picked up too."
A: "Curry & Rice..."
C: "Maybe. But I don't know if tart will mix so well with curry & rice..."
A: "Are you drunk?????"
Turns out she only wanted to tell me what she had for lunch...
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