The Wrath of Angry Leftovers

Last night, at my mum's insistence, we went out for dinner. It was a nice Indian restaurant, with futuristic decor, efficient service and those lights inside crystal pyramids that turn off when you lay the pyramid on its side ("it's Kryptonite!" my father said. My father can be very embarassing in restaurants.)

The food was good... very good. Only, we ordered far too much, and there were some, apparently very angry, leftovers.

After dinner, Boy and I went to the video store. There were Wonka chocolates there. I was bright eyed, greedy and excited beyond belief... ever since I had read the book and watched the movie years ago, I had wanted to live in Wonka world and eat Wonka chocolates in the hopes of finding the precious golden ticket. I couldn't believe they had Wonka chocolates... it was like a dream come true! The somewhat amused guy at the counter told us that they were even running almost the same competition as in the story (10 golden tickets to win a trip to the Wonka factory in the US)... I felt like I was going to burst. Boy bought me a fudge sludge. (Later I was disappointed to find that there was no golden ticket in my chocolate, and that it didn't taste half as good as the packaging looked.)

We hired What Lies Beneath. Last week, a friend had bought a new flatscreen TV for her apartment, and had been sending us harrassing text messages all night, demanding us to bring videos and watch them at her place.

It was The Movie That Might Never Finish. Nonetheless, I was quite impressed... it turned out to be quite an eerie film, more than I had expected. There were some quite frightening scenes... we even screamed a few times, although I believe that in many of those cases I would not have screamed, had my friend not first (she is very, very easily scared).

We left at 1am and drove to a park to spend some quiet time together under the stars... believing that we were too full to have sex, and finding out that we were wrong, and falling asleep. At 3:20, in a semi awake state he dropped me home. Using the remainder of my energy I dragged myself up the stairs, changed into my night clothes and fell into bed.

Four hours later my alarm went off, and I dragged myself out to get ready for my job interview at 9. It was at a quaint little house converted into a cosy dental surgery, for the position of a casual receptionist. The lady who interviewed me (the dentist's wife) was the lovely motherly sort, that likes to talk a lot about many unrelated things (her life and children included) without breathing, giving you the opportunity to talk only when she stops to take a breath, which is hardly ever. She thanked me for coming in, and said she would call me after she had sorted out a timetable with the current receptionist.

I came home and made the mistake of eating the Angry Leftovers for lunch. Tired, I went back to bed and woke up a couple of hours later with an uncomfortably upset stomach. I have spent the most part of the rest of my day in the bathroom... it has not been fun. The wrath of th angry leftovers has resulted in me staying home by myself, eating hard-boiled eggs for dinner1, while my family attend a wedding that I would have quite liked to go to.

I am quite upset.

I suppose I better go and return that video.

1. I will take this moment to make the embarassing confession that I do not know how to boil an egg properly: four minutes is supposed to be the time for a good, hard boiled egg, but the shells of my eggs always crack before four minutes, so I take them off thinking they are done and end up with semi-boiled runny yolks. Once, I tried to make egg sandwiches for Boy so that I could take him a surprise packed lunch, and it all ended up in disaster. Fortunately for me, the superb egg I had tonight was boiled by my mother this morning. I must observe her technique next time.

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