I’ve never shown up on my sibling’s doorstep drunk as a skunk, but I can imagine this is how I’d be awoken, if not by a cat to the face.
I’ve never shown up on my sibling’s doorstep drunk as a skunk, but I can imagine this is how I’d be awoken, if not by a cat to the face.
I do, however, remember a certain text from a certain someone, sent around the 2am hour, that said, “I’m the prime minister of Ireland!”
And I’m not sure I would tell you that you smelled like Keith Richards’ nutsack, even if you did. I’m just that diplomatic.
Tell me, dearest, how you know what Keith Richards’ nutsack smells like?
I was hoping no one would ask me that.