a.k.a Petitebete. Office drone by day, amateur closeted erotica writer by night (hard to write in a closet let me tell you). Dabbler, dilettante, self-deprecator. Musings, rants, social commentary and the occasional flash of fictional semi-brilliance when the Muse smacks me upside the head. Under-promising and over-delivering since 1989. Canadian, in case the backdrop wasn't clear indication enough.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
in the kitchen eating my lunch...
Russian: oh that looks lovely
Me: Are you talking about me or my sandwich?
Russian: *pause*
Me: *raises brow*
Russian: oh I would never call you a "that"
Me: good to know
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