Profile for spleepy_shnozz:
Be gentle. I'm new.
Also new to this HTML stuff.
I am eighteen, female, and can be reached on MSN with [email protected]. I am not afraid of spam!
If you feel the need to email me, you can do that, too: [email protected]
It is not a typo, it is the title of a book. That seems to be the kind of thing you put in these...
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Be gentle. I'm new.
Also new to this HTML stuff.
I am eighteen, female, and can be reached on MSN with [email protected]. I am not afraid of spam!
If you feel the need to email me, you can do that, too: [email protected]
It is not a typo, it is the title of a book. That seems to be the kind of thing you put in these...
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Crap meals out
I think it was my fourteenth birthday...
They made me stand on the chair while the restaurant sang Happy Birthday to me. I spent what felt like the longest thirty seconds of my life blushing and trying to tug down the hem of my dress. I was also vaguely aware of something tickling my foot, but didn't notice what it was until I turned to look down at the cheeky waiter chappy when he asked me, "And now, Birthday Girl, is there anything you would like?"
"A plaster, please."
I had cut my foot open on a nail sticking out of the chair.
They did not have any plasters.
The waiter brought me a bandage and a huge dressing pad jobby, but was unable to attend to my (quite scary looking) wound. The sight of blood made him feel ill, apparently.
They didn't even give me a discount on the food; they seemed to think complimenting me on my First Aid and bandaging skills would make up for the vicious, foot-attacking furniture.
(Sun 30th Apr 2006, 22:37, More)
I think it was my fourteenth birthday...
They made me stand on the chair while the restaurant sang Happy Birthday to me. I spent what felt like the longest thirty seconds of my life blushing and trying to tug down the hem of my dress. I was also vaguely aware of something tickling my foot, but didn't notice what it was until I turned to look down at the cheeky waiter chappy when he asked me, "And now, Birthday Girl, is there anything you would like?"
"A plaster, please."
I had cut my foot open on a nail sticking out of the chair.
They did not have any plasters.
The waiter brought me a bandage and a huge dressing pad jobby, but was unable to attend to my (quite scary looking) wound. The sight of blood made him feel ill, apparently.
They didn't even give me a discount on the food; they seemed to think complimenting me on my First Aid and bandaging skills would make up for the vicious, foot-attacking furniture.
(Sun 30th Apr 2006, 22:37, More)