What do you get when you put two super-sexy high-powered middle-aged Englishwomen, an 18-year-old thespian skinhead, a designer Australian Labradoodle with a questionable haircut and a bag of ‘special ’ gummy bears on a sofa together?
High as heck baby.
One got jiggly, one got giggly, one got wiggly and one got licky. Then they all got excessively munchy.
Luckily we’d pre-emptied this scenario and there was an extensive Japanese sushi banquet in the kitchen waiting to be inhaled.
I of course was an outsider looking in.. A spectator watching the spectacle unfold. My current situation and cocktail of narcotics probably wouldn’t have been an agreeable mixer so I had to sit on the side lines of this little soiree.
You might well think that Saturday nights in the house of a brain tumour person would be a tad tedious and tame.. But not around here honey. It’s all about love and other drugs.
Having a goddamn mother-fucking brain tumour isn’t going to eliminate the good-time-party-girl in me.
After all.. A little party never killed nobody and who knows what fucked up shit tomorrow might bring.