Buni came round last night to help us shift the furniture around (we’ve been having something of a re-vamp). While he and K did most of the heavy lifting in the sitting room, I sat on the floor in the hall, re-alphabetising various merged piles of CDs. Job finished, the three of us sat down to dinner.
“Well, that was a fair division of labour”, I chirped, tucking into my salmon. “You boys did all the butch stuff, and I filed my CD collection.”
“God, I hate that sound”, K snarled.
“What sound?”
“That constant shuffling of plastic. It’s like having to listen to you f***ing your lover in the next room.”
He’s good, isn’t he?
(My reply, though devastatingly effective, is sadly non-bloggable.)
troubled diva 