Alright, picking myself out of the darkness (that'll teach me not listen to sarah maclachlan) to clamber into work nearly wacking fellow train travellers with my oversized monogramed bag to find out that the drummoyne clinic had been firebombed! arson! they shouted. Turned out to be a minor fire in the back stock room.
So much drama for such a small business.
i say to mrs mui mui whilst i'm sticking needles into her upper lip with voodoo abandon.

"do people get buried with their handbags?"
"i don't know, but i would want a say in my accessories when i'm buried"
"you never see what kind of shoes dead people wear, they only open half the casket. "
"I would guess they would, can't be just the top half... no pants underneath!"

*both squeal in laughter*

"i want to be buried with my birkin and loubittons"
"i just hope they don't put me in sideways, i'd hate to get pillow crease"

**both squeal in more laughter**

i love sour-gummy fruits

i love passionfruit flavoured softdrink.

i love tying my hair up at the back but letting the front parts fall forward.

i wish i knew what it felt like to have someone fall in love with you. Again.