Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Home Alone

Ginger Beard has forgotten about me.

That's right guys, I am the five year old at the school gate, with a shaking bottom lip, a My Little Pony Lunchbox and a serious abandonment complex. All because the person who's supposed to look after me has become over-interested in an Argos catalogue, or, knowing Ginger, tripped over an untied shoe lace and face planted London.

I've asked one of the Sales Team to wait with me. I'm afraid to be alone here. They might turn all the lights off, or worse still, make the assumption that I'm happy to work in my free time.

We're supposed to meet for dinner pre a comedy gig.

Already I'm excited about my apology gift - usually a selection of cakes from the Humming Bird Bakery.

With every passing minute, the apology gift grows more impressive. Let's hope he forgets about me for another half an hour. That way, we will still have time to eat, and I can demand a puppy.

Nothing says sorry quite like a puppy that you can't really look after, and fall in love with a bit, before admitting your inadequacies as an owner, and returning in hysterical sobs.

Do you remember when I told you he had a run of forgetting I was in the bathroom with him, and turning the light off as he left? Yeah? I have to marry this shit. This is the rest of my life guys.

OMG The Sales Team person is leaving me. He should be like the teacher that has to bitterly stay behind and distract me with colouring in.

This is a fucking horror film.

I'm going to take pictures of myself looking sad and send them to him.

The I'm going to go to the comedy gig by myself, and see if any of the strange yet intriguing men there fancy getting married to me in September.

Probs will, IT'S NOT LIKE I'M FORGETTABLE OR ANYTHING.




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