Dear Life,

Okay, fine. I can't make an omelette. I waited too long to fold it, so it's an explosion of eggs, peppers and half-melted cheese. I'll call mom next time. However, I think almost choking on it is twisting the knife a little. I live alone, dude. I can see the headstone now: "Choked on her own badly made omelette."


No comments: