Now that she’s dropped the Bunton, does Emma go under E?

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.)

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