The Ant's friend last night: What's that smell?
Peas: Oh, nothing. Just my fudge tea.
The Ant's friend: Fudge tea?
Peas: Correct. Tea flavoured with fudge.
The Ant's friend: Oddball.
The Engen QuikShop assistant, named Knowledge, this morning: (The same QuikShop I was scutters in a week ago) What's that smell?
Peas: Just a Tupperware of tuna that has spilled all over my bag.
Knowledge: Excuse me?
Peas: You heard me. See? All over my wallet, cell phone, bag lining, can I puh-lease just have those Marlboro Lights now?
Knowledge: Eikhona. It smells.
Peas: I think I'm fucking aware of this. Can't you see the delighted faces of your customers? Queueing behind a woman who, not only are her pants falling down, but her bag is embalmed with tuna. Cigarettes please!
Sometimes I just wish I never got out of bed.
That Engen QuikShop is detrimental to my reputation.
And I bloody smell of tuna. Attractive.