You know…despite what this blog might suggest, I have always considered my pal Errol a decent sort of person.
Yes, he has a love of teasing and pushing buttons. But that has always been in good fun and I have never, ever thought of him as an actual jerk.
Until last week. You see, Errol has deeply and maliciously wounded me. Read the rest of this entry
(knock on door)
Errol’s daughters: PIE! PIE PIE PIE! (translation: Do you want pie?)
Up in Errol’s kitchen:
Me: This is awesome pie!
Errol’s daughter: Is there enough for seconds?!
Errol’s wife: There’s one little sliver left. Did everyone get some?
Errol: No, I gave up my slice for Manda.
Me: (looks horribly guilty)
Errol: (not looking up from his knitting with stupid face) I don’t even need to look at your face. I can just feel the guilt. It’s awesome.
Me: (looks horribly embarrassed)
Errol: I don’t even like rhubarb pie.
Me: (resists the urge to snatch away his knitting needles and stab him in his stupid face)