My dad and I went to work yesterday at a really big, expensive house. As soon as we walked in, the decor simply screamed let's sit down and have tea and crumpets and discuss the tragedies of our poor English husbands gone off to war. There was something vaguely familiar about the place, but I couldn't quite place it. It wasn't until later, while the matron of the house had us trapped in her front entranceway brandishing copies of the Watchtower and a disturbingly glazed grin, that I recalled the reason for the familiarity...when this particular house was being built, my friends and I used to get silly wasted on the grand open staircase and pretend we owned the place.
inner dialogue: HA HA HA HA HA HA!! bite my tongue bite my tongue bite my tongue.................
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