Nonsense from a wine-addled brain
Hallo there…do you want a pineapple? Sorry, I don’t actually have one, but I thought I’d be polite and offer one anyway, I was just hoping you’d say no.
Just had my second shower for the day as alas the first one seemed to have worn off, so here I sit, dripping all over the floorboards and chair and anything else roughly within the proximity of my muppet-esque mop. Had a grand night with K yesterday, we convened upon her abode for season two of ‘The House of Eliott‘. As the last time we had the marathon, we didn’t finish watching till 6:30am the following morning, we had planned to begin watching this season far earlier, beginning our viewing at the far more respectable hour of 3pm.
Two pizzas, a bottle of wine, a bottle of coke and COPIOUS litres of water later, we finished around 3am. Bleary eyed, we looked at each other. Surely, we could go one more…it seemed such an early night, we should try and challenge ourselves, test our willpower and endurance. K asked me to pick what we’d watch next as I was the guest, and once my eyes alighted upon her DVD shelf, they automatically honed in on one case.
“We couldn’t…we shouldn’t…but could we?”
“What what?” K asked, sounded just a little scared and a little excited (though the latter was probably due to her devouring almost half a packet of Reeses peanut butter cups).
“Pride and Prejudice”
*insert the sound of some lonely crickets chirping in the background*
“Let’s do it”
So we did.
Two epic BBC dramas in one sitting? Could we in fact accomplish the extraordinary feat we had set for ourselves? Surely, there were only so many dashing men and period costumes one could absorb in a certain amount of time, but with grim determination we hitched up our (nonexistant) socks and set about this monumental task.
I almost made it. Almost. Though, I have to say in my defence that over the course of the 48 hours prior to going to K’s home, I’d had a total of 7hrs sleep and had been cooking and cleaning nonstop, from the moment I awoke to the moment I went to sleep. Not having fully recovered from that (as well as the disappointed from a certain event that I have resolved never to think or speak of again), I was already at a disadvantage to K who was chirrupy from the get-go and had lots of restful sleep the night prior. I got as far as Mr Darcy’s discovery of Lydia and Wickham after their ‘elopement’. And K, to my sheer amazement, made it through the whole thing, completing the marathon at 7:30am this morning.
Needless to say, we were both in very odd head spaces when we awoke after falling unconscious. So much so that I am quite sure those dvd cases should carry prominent labels - “WARNING! Watching more than six hours of British period dramas in one sitting is likely to make you puke rainbows and fart elegant witticisms“. Or something like that, I can’t be sure, I’m tired and hungover, damnit!
Right, so it’s now about 12 hrs since I wrote the above and damnit, I can’t actually fall asleep! I blame the nap - I was trying my best to stay awake so I had a hope of fixing the unhealthy sleep pattern but alas, I sat down on the bed for a cuddle with Mr Woofy and woke up 3 hours later when he stepped on me jump off the bed and ask to go for a pee.
*sigh*
Almost 5am. Good grief, I need help.
Now excuse me while I go off to fart rainbows and puke witticisms. Aaaghghodfhgfjf…
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