Just for a change, I’m reblogging a post written by someone other than me. I thought this alternative take on the family breakfast performance was funny. And for the record, we all loved the Spanish omelette, scrambled egg with smoked salmon, French toast and fresh fruit salad produced for our delectation.
Look at her gleam^^
I, Isabel, write from the solitude of an empty hotel room. Well, Rachel’s here but she’s deeply asleep and so would be no use in a fire. So for all intents and purposes, I’m on my own, and in the shit if there’s a fire.
Rick, leader of the pack, has just led his team of aspiring athletes out of the door with the words ‘come on you party poopers’. I don’t know why he called them this, because there’s no party, only a gym, and I hope to god they won’t be ‘pooping’ it. Anyway, that’s the background to how ive come to be alone. I’m no aspiring athlete and would only be a fraud if I tagged along with the big boys.
I’ve been left a task. I’m to prepare a breakfast feast for my hungry athletes for their return at 9:20. It’s a…
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