Last weekend I was doing something I shouldn’t with an unknown gentleman in a nightclub toilet when we were unexpectedly interrupted by my sister-in-law. One minute we were dry riding to R-Kelly, the next, the door had flown open and she was standing there, aghast. Unfortunately, by the time I’d peeled my pants off the floor she had gone. The thing is, she’s not said anything to my husband yet, but I very much doubt she’s going to keep it a secret for long because she’s a vindictive cow. Have you got any suggestions for ensuring she keeps schtum, or should I just go ahead and garotte her with her own washing line?
Perhaps, if you happen to get lots of pocket money, you might want to pay for a soup injection, just like that naughty footballer in the news this week. I’m not actually sure what a soup injection is, and what flavour of soup it involves, and if you also get a bread roll, but it seems to make lots of people mad, especially the ones who write in the papers because they’re not allowed to say anything about you, even if you do terribly naughty things. Whatever it is, I’m going to raid my piggy bank and try to scrape together enough to give my teacher, Mrs Bradley, a soup injection before parents evening this week, so she can’t tell my mummy and daddy all about how I poured poster paint into Amelie Parker’s My Little Pony lunch box as retaliation for blunting my silver glitter pen. As far as I’m concerned, my activities outside the classroom are nothing to do with my school work and are my own private business, and Mrs Bradley has no right to broadcast this information to anyone. Not even on Twitter.
Hope that helps!