If it wasn’t mint sauce, it was tea. If it wasn’t tea, it was toothpaste. If it wasn’t toothpaste, it was something else. If it involved my mouth it either spilled out of it or never made it there in the first place.
The mint sauce was the most inconvenient/embarrassing because I was in an Indian restaurant at the time. I didn’t spill a little neither. Lost my poppadom, too.
The problem with mint sauce, the only thing that really gets it out of jean crotches is a washing machine, so it becomes a choice between a cum stain or a piss patch. If you choose the piss patch you only get a cum stain afterwards with flecks of tissue attached. Mouldy cum. I mean, it really isn’t a good state of affairs. IT’S MINT SAUCE PEOPLE! But nobody gonna think that. I wouldn’t. I’d notice and go, “Oh my God, he came out with cum stains!”
The most irritating spillage of the weekend occurred every time I had a cup of tea.
Every. Single. Time.
It got to the point that I stopped tea and started spilling water.
Luckily, I didn’t have anything sugary in the flat so I couldn’t spill that. That would’ve really pissed me off ’cause I wouldn’t mop up one bit, it dries, and then be like, “Ew, what’s this sticky patch?!”
I didn’t spill the cider!
Not the best photo because we needed a photo together and I suddenly remembered (I’ve been forgetting for so long) but it is the best photo from Saturday night. It’s also the only one I remember. I have since discovered this on my phone:
It’s also not a very good photo, if anything it’s worse, and I don’t know what’s happening in it. But with a bit of thought, this might be the moment some randomer slapped my arse because come on, it’s a peach. Although, it might not be that moment. I don’t know.
All I know is, I felt a little delicate on Sunday.
Ah, it was a good weekend.