What's home, if not the first place you run away from? What's love, if not that unexplainable, blazing feeling which comes after a period of hate?
Reputable for her catchy appearance, her overly-niceness, her obsession with cartoon animations and h...
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Ed Sheeran ft. H.E.R. - I Don't Want Your Money.
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WE DIDN'TTECHNICALLYWANT to swim. Toodles didn't actually want to go potty, so nobody - or nothing - used Mr. Ash's toilet. I just wanted to piss him off, and boy did it work. I think he even replaced his toilet because I saw some guys with a new WC and other plumbing equipment going into his room this morning.
I shut my door behind me and told my friends. We literally laughed our asses off. Amara was showering when I relayed the information; she tripped and fell from how hard she was laughing.
After I got the car keys from Mr. Ash, - and got really super horny because of what he said and did to me - we went on the best late night car rides of our lives. There's just something about goofing around in an expensive car that's not yours...until tragedy befalls, that is.
I honestly didn't wreck his car on purpose. I might have let Toodles claw on the leather seats but I did not intentionally wreck his car.
Sandra did, and it was purely unintentional.
Everyone in the car gasped loudly and a twenty-second moment of silence ensued in the space of the sleek Aston Martin after Sandra drunkenly scratched the side of my ex-boss's car on another car parked by the roadside.
So much for knowing how to parallel park.
All she did after the twenty-second pause was turn down the volume of Billy Jean blasting through the speakers and burst into laughter.
I wanted to strangle her - after laughing, that is. Partly, I also wanted to throw Toodles outside the car window and run him over three good times, because it was both their faults.
I asked the bitch...I mean, I fucking asked her if she could drive properly after having half a bottle of vodka and she said yes.
I asked her to leave Toodles at home, but she declined; she fucking said no.
She was also the one who brought up the idea of taking Mr. Ash's car for a late night ride to Starbucks Coffee and McDonald's.
Every tragedy that befell us last night was Sandra's fault.
The only good things I got out of agreeing to her stupid idea were: one, ten bucks from Vanessa because she lost our bet; two, the look of irritation on Mr. Ash's face each time I threw his office door open, and three, a slightly damp underwear.
