Miss Emilia Sian Evan Owen, or as she would prefer, miss Middleton, has requested that I should honour her with a birthday blog.
And I kindly agreed. Just as she would agree if I ask her to bake me a cake. ;)
I mean it's awfully presumptuous to assume that I would, or go around saying 'only you and you are allowed to read it because my birthday makes me god.' No, that's not Emilia. However...
So, Emilia, I'm also writing this on my phone, so hopefully I won't make any silly mistake such as writing 'raping in choir' instead of 'rapping..'. Raping is bad. Rapping is good.
I think, we should celebrate in style when we can, such as a rice and Miranda date. We can't seem to hang out conventionally, we have to be 'revising' or having a noodle and torchwood date. But hey.
Oh, and of course chemistry quiz, wish you mucked up lots like me so I could make fun of you. Although our haribo sharing on the bus was stupid enough. 'reach for my crotch.'
I had a dream about you (more of a nightmare really) that you were a lesbian. Not any lesbian, but you really liked me. We were sitting on a park bench and you kept kissing me. Oh, I think we went out too. didnt want to, but you came onto me very strongly.
And of course, the next day when I tell you my dream... You react by trying to reenact it. Silly girl.
Your cakes are absolutely rubbish. I eat them and I think 'ew, homemade, good quality, wholesome, gooey, tasty, fresh cake is just so last century.'
But hey. I pretend I appreciate them.
Ooh er, our notes in history. I cant remember which quote we wrote down about Mr price. But he said something about prostitution that we found hilariously funny.
Oh! And nuns and prostitutes are the same. Quite so.
The time when the 10 year olds chatted us up in saundersfoot, and asked us to go to theirs. Bless them.
And of course. Our tulip mission to take over Luxembourg, and to start a race with only Harvey and your genes.
Although you did forget to meet me in the airport again. Again.
