Lapses of lingy…

This week I met a guy who wants to write a book and get it published. The odd thing is: he can’t write, not to save his life. His story ideas are trite and reek of cliches, and the style of writing — well, there isn’t any. But he’s an ambitious chap and seems to be focused on getting published. I won’t be surprised if he actually does. It seems that any one can get published these days. Sigh.

On a different note, I belted out that 70’s disco number ‘Knock On Wood’ by Amy Stewart, as if my life depended on it, this week at brunch. It represents my current state of mind. The going is good and I want to knock on wood, even though I’m not exactly superstitious.

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I have a chocolate-crazy friend who unleashed her voracious appetite on a box of liqueur chocolates, recently gifted to me by a friend. I love the thought of liqueur chocs, but somehow never end up eating any, myself (guess I like my chocs and alcohol, separate).

So, lil’ miss choclate-crazy, left for a trip to Bangalore and I never touched the box post her departure. Yesterday, she popped over and asked me if they were finished. Nopes, I told her. Help yourself.

“Er…did you not read the note?”, she asked. What note?, I wondered.

During her last LC binge (there were three, altogether), she devoured about five chocolates (or was it 10), all at once. Since, I was asleep, whilst this dubious activity was taking place in my very own kitchen, she apparently left me a note — inside the box: “Sorry, I finished them. They were calling me!” said the note, which was sufficiently chilled by now.

The liqueur chocs are no more. Little miss psy-cho-co polished them off, yesterday, faster than I could dilate my pupils.

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