Sugar

Dear id, as I write this I am watching a documentary on ancient Egypt. They’re making the horses run into lampposts. Not the Egyptians, the historians. I’m not quite sure why. Anyway, I am also not quite sure why you felt it appropriate to close an umbrella over my head in the high street- being trapped in the sunshine in a yellowy prison made me sweat so much that when I finally emerged I resembled a newborn slime-covered giraffe, had it been birthed from an umbrella. Was it because nothing was of interest, or because of that time I had to open the banana with the paperclip? Anyway, it was barely my fault, you know, that they don’t allow knives in the office anymore. Plus, bananas can get sloppy. Anyway, this was just a note to say that you need to be more vigilant when I’m sleeping- turns out that I wasn’t blinded, it was just sugar in my eye fluid. If you know who put it there I would appreciate a response, anyway.

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About Anna

Author of the Insanity Aquarium. Current fears include time as a concept, the squishiness of my right eyeball, and not being able to open this jar.
This entry was posted in Humour and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Sugar

  1. Val says:

    You mean giraffes aren’t always born from umbrellas? Wow! ;)

    Like

  2. darkjade68 says:

    Brilliant

    DJ-

    Like

  3. Anne Schilde says:

    As much as I feel a deep connection sometimes, I can honestly say I know nothing about this, although sugar was my mom’s favorite cuss word. I have noted on occasion that a banana is much like an umbrella, if the banana were the giraffe-birthing sort.

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    • Anna says:

      My brain hasn’t been behaving recently, and I made the decision to stick a whole lot of separate crazy in there and cement it together with jelly. The result seems to be slightly broken, and full of bananas. I do hope you still come visit though :)

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    • Anne Schilde says:

      Just leave the door unlocked. I stagger in at 3am sometimes.

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    • Anna says:

      Hello Anne. Just wanted to say that I love you.

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    • Anne Schilde says:

      You’ve become a part of me, Anna. That’s love, right? I can’t possibly think of pigeons but I think of you… or socks or hairballs or finger sandwiches for that matter. :) I talk about you sometimes like everyone should just know who you are and I get quizzical looks. “Who’s Anna?” “Just shared Detective Wooly again the other day?” you ask me… I might have done. I love you too, so much. I hope you know.

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    • Anna says:

      It’s love or cannibalism, but I would gladly subject myself to both, only for you.

      It’s funny you mention thinking about me, because I think of you whenever I have a bath or whenever I eat jellybeans. I eat jellybeans most lunchtimes and have started to tell the lady at the till that I buy them to take them back to the office after lunch to share with my team, because of course it is LUDICROUS that anyone could consume so many jellybeans by themselves… this exchange is then usually followed by nervous laughter. I shan’t tell you whose.

      I had an interview today and so am treating myself to a bath tonight. Whenever I get in and release a dramatic bathbomb, all colourful and smelly, I am reminded of the soap residue sticking to the inside of my throat as I am pushed under the water, as I am reading your stories. And I love you all the more for it :3

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