There's a story from a couple of weeks ago that I can't possibly tell here. It involves a moving bus, cups of soup, and the line "if you spill that on me, I'll make you lick it off."
I'm sure you get the idea, although perhaps not the detail of why I can't tell the story.
There is a flip side story, which happened today.
I was at the retirement celebration for my Advisor of Studies from university. Having arrived, I found that I recognised exactly two people in the room. Since Dr Whitelaw, being the centre of attention, was rather busy, I joined the other person at her table. This placed me at a table with a bunch of people who graduated in the Eighties, and one girl who graduated in 2001.
As the conversation neared its end, the (rather cute) girl asked the table at large if they had any plans for the evening.
Three hours later, after I had travelled home, and while I was cooking my fajitas for dinner, my stupid brain decided to furnish me with the absolutely perfect response to this question.
My own brain hates me. Time for a new one, I think.
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