Lacquer virgin. Hey!
I'm at home, having a beret day with wifey today.
You know, just kickin' back, lettin' the days go by.
It's fantastic when one throws an outlandish sickie, to, say, lacquer a crappy old sideboard that's been clogging up the garage for some years, and the other wakes up with a sniffle and decides: "Hey Hazel! Why the hell don't I join you?"
Fantastic for the sniffler, probably not so much for the lacquee who'd had her day all mapped out, and can now sense a Lemsip haze of a hypochondriac hubby looming on the horizon.
Anyway, a coupla minutes ago, as Hazel was out back a-lacquerin', dripping brown goo all over my pristine garage floor, I shuffled out to pay her a visit. Out there, on a nearby block of land, a couple of vocal builders were erecting some kind of mausoleum on a block nearby.
Here's a verbatim report of their conversation:
"'e killed her and made it look like an accident."
"'E KILLED 'ER AND MADE IT LOOK LIKE AN ACCIDENT!"
Hazel may not be back on the blogwaves for quite some time.