Did you ever have a secret hiding place as a snot rag? A place that you could disappear to and tell the world to fuck right off in the process? I'm not sure if I did but I do recall quite a few hiding places I had as a tarty teenager... Ah yes the joys of youth and all the stupidity that comes with it.
The Tart and I had these hiding places down to a tee when it came to booze, smokes and I think condoms too but that could have been another corrupt mate! The great thing about these hiding places is that they were interchangeable. You could change them to suit whatever mood you were in or even better yet what shoes and shit hot outfit you were tarted up in for the night. Fan-bloody-tastic. I used to think that my hiding places were fucking genius and that no one, not even the almighty Parental Unit, would ever uncover the depths of my sneakiness. Today, however, whilst munching on some tasteless pasta salad the truth was revealed and I was left completely dumbfounded. Left thinking why on God's green bloody earth I had not managed to think of that?!
The hiding place? A girl's platted hair
The treasure? Miniature bottles of Jack, Vodies, Gin (and the list goes on)
How? Scheit loads of ribbon, elastics and very thick hair...
I am still absolutely devastated. To think my long hair could have served such an honourable purpose. Fuck.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment