Technology is not your friend…

I am usually a very good judge of character. Like, superb. Like, betcha-bottom-dollar.

Until for one week, I turned out to be very, very wrong.

I used to love my Blackberry. Everyone knows. Strawberry and I were tight, she’d be my favourite inanimate object inside of the whole Universe. But she did something unforgivable that is responsible for the near ruination of my mental health and wellbeing.

Midst cataclysmic arguing with my date, she decided to *not* deliver 3 VITAL text messages. Coquettish little bitch.

So vital, in fact, that, without these 3 texts, the world came to a standstill: I stopped receiving oxygen to my brain; he thought I should be booked into an institution; I thought he should be chained to a moving 4 tonne truck lurching across gravel at 180km/h.

See, if we’d just been living in Ye Olde Worlde, this would NEVER have happened. His messenger pigeon would’ve given my messenger pigeon a letter written in the Queen’s English and in perfect medium-pressure black ink.

Imagine the Grandiose Hash-Up, people.

So. I have some Humble Pie to devour.

Mr Friggin’ Fantastic, Redhead, Confused Climber:- I am sorry. You are *still* lovely. You still have the most amazing guns I’ve ever seen.  And I’m sorry I thought you were an unfeeling, callous redhead asshole. Your hair is decidedly mouse, not red.

(Please don’t tell your family I wrote a terrible blog about you- it’ll make Christmas dinner very very uncomfortable).

Thank you and goodnight.

PS: you can still wear your slops in public, it’s ok.

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