In America, when you have good friends, you can get yourself sprittzled at a local watering hole and end up relatively unspoiled at the end of the night in a warm bed with your sister.
A blanket apology to everyone for my tiny, unreasonably clammy hands.
Sorry Phil for punching you the entire ride to Sawmill.
Sorry Brittiny for making you stand outside in the cold for no reason.
Sorry J-Wray for hugging you every five seconds.
and Lin, did you say I looked like a 12-year-old Leukemia patient after three beers?
I’m not sure how to take that, but in a related note, Sorry. I promise to replenish your supply of cancer sticks.
Anyway I’m going to go retrieve the Civic now and take an angry call from my mother. I’m too old for this.
I think this post qualifies for Part Three of our ongoing series “Slaughtering a Pig: The least of my transgressions” in preparation for Feb. 8, the day our little piggy goes to the market.
No related posts.