he asked. I said, "My next door neighbour."
Sociopaths, fascist dictators, my boyfriend.
he asked. "To my mother-in-law's burial." "Then why the scratches on your face " "She kept resisting, that old fart."
I don't know but it's e-nourmous.
Har e-potter.
The men provide the food and the women do the cooking, leaving the children to wash up afterwards.
Just one provided there's a programmer around to explain how to do it.
