i know a place where no cars go

when kate comes in through the door, bringing ina gush of fresh air, i'm sitting on the couch with my good leg tucked underneath me, covered in mago juice and cackling wildly at the infomercial that has caught my attention.

ten minutes later, i'm still covered in mango juice, my right hand sticky and my wrists simply unmentionable and kate has joined me, both of her legs tucked up under her.

we decide on bridget jones.

i mean, she says she's fat and horrible and has no luck with men and wears huge knickers [which i actually quite admire being a fan of overly large underpants myself] but she ends up in said knickers macking with colin firth.

the only thing comparable to that kind of excitement in my life is revealing what exactly a mango stone looks like. believe me- not that exciting. it's kind of like a shrivelled up coconut.