Probably For The Best
Must dust cat.
To our dear friends whose hen’s and buck’s nights we failed to attend last night, the following conversation is what we were doing instead. Probably for the best we didn’t come, eh?
Our bedroom, 8.30 pm. Spoken in whispers. J: Did you put away the other cooked sausage? H: Yes. J: Good, because when I went into the kitchen before, Gusto was licking the pan and I hoped she hadn’t eaten the extra sausage. H: No, I had put it away. J: I figured you must have, because if she had eaten a whole sausage she probably wouldn’t have bothered to lick the sausage fat from the pan afterwards. H. No, she’d be lying groaning in the corner. J: High fiving herself with two sausage-greasy paws.
It’s like Pinter meets Garfield around here. I hope you aren’t too cross at us. We will practice better conversations all week so we won’t disgrace ourselves at your wedding on Saturday. On the bright side, I’ll be wearing a sparkly blue dress to your nuptials, so you can cancel the giant disco ball, if you were having one.