The parental unit returned from somewhere continental sporting slight tans and big sunglasses only to find me looking like I have eaten half the house (which I as good have) and running around with air fresher trying to disguise the lingering smell of fags and booze that have taken over my house the past two weeks. I hung around long enough to gorge myself on all the foreign food stuffs that also made the journey home with the creme de la creme (jesus they even have me talking bollox foreign) being the peanut butter crisps. You have not lived in crisp heaven (where I hold every key) until you have tried these bad boys that look not unlike wotsits but taste so divine that my limited vocabularly cannot stretch far enough to describe them aptly enough. And while my parents entered the door smiling because they were so elated to see their jumbo daughter and her now skinny dogs who shat themselves silly over the two weeks, the smiles were quickly erased as they witnessed the carnage that my 3 days of solid tidying did nothing to quash. NO longer will The Fee be trusted on her own for periods of longer than 2 hours and 10 minutes. They reeled back in horror as the true shock of smashed sun dials, bombers and fag burns in the carpet, broken toilets and pish splashed sofas sunk in. At least this detracted my mum's attention away from the fact that I had smoked all her snooker cue fags and actually quite enjoyed them. With all the damage I have caused (oh how i wish I could blame my irreseponsible friends but i know only too well that I, Fee The Clutz, was all at fault) it would have been cheaper for them to send me on a worldwide trip for the best part of a year. IEven if I hadn't caused such a mess, do you know how much it will cost them to restock their cupboards? I can't even dream about that kind of money. I really did eat pretty much everything in sight, aside from the olives, the apples and the dog food but even it was looking tempting after day 12 adn I'm sure with a drop of oil and bread it would have gone down a treat (a bit like an over eager lesbo really). I even managed to get my way through frozen vegetables and stale pita bread and infected eggs because I was so starved with boredom that I needed to alleviate this in someway. I evacuated the house quicker than a sneaky fart and have been too scared to make the return journey for fear of all the reprisals that are sure to follow. What's the worst they can do? Ground me? At age 23 it's not bloody likely but they could make me pay toward the refurbishment of the entire house which would mean that I will never see the pub or vodka again. OH heaven help me and my carelessness and my compulsive over eating, again. And so I go to post myself off to somewhere like Bogner for the forseeable future whilst making sure I touch nothing or no one in the process and maybe I will find a way to cure me of my clumsy irresponsible ways. But let's hope not.
Listening to: Food Glorious Food