It’s my party and I’ll burn my face if I want to

On the morning of our much-anticipated house-warming/Christmas party, I woke up to the sound of Terry screaming expletives at Rubin at the top of his voice. “I’m guessing this WOULDN’T be a good time to let the neighbours know we’re expecting around 30 cars to park outside their homes this evening, and oh yeah, there might be some music too!” I thought as I struggled into my dressing gown and raced downstairs to the hall… where I was greeted by the sight of one small turd and two mugs of coffee (one of which had spilled slightly) sitting on top of the once-perfect cream carpet, which had been shampooed just a few days earlier, in anticipation of us welcoming all of our closest friends into our home. The turd was Rubin’s, naturally.The coffee was Terry’s. (Because this would’ve been a much, MUCH stranger story if it had been the other way around, wouldn’t it?) Terry had let Rubin into the garden to perform his morning ablutions, as usual, and Rubin had raced back into the house, run upstairs (with Terry in hot pursuit) and proceeded to do his, er, “business” on the carpet instead. “And there’s another one in the (Read more...)

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