Daniel, Megs (see earlier post about sheep husbandry) and myself have a standing Thursday night date. Uni finishes, that wonderful husband of mine comes to collect us, and we head to our favourite Pho place for (you guessed it) a Pho. Nothing compares to winding down after a long day at work and uni where we eat pho very late into the evening and solve the problems of the world one spoonful at a time. This ritual may end soon (with the end of uni), but I suspect that maybe we’ll still end up at Pho at the same time, but we’ll have a couple of beers under our belts, not a uni lecture about blah blah blah.
So the night begins with the aforementioned Meg’s good parking karma. We have a theory that because Megs is sans-car all of her good parking karma is actually stored up for other people that she is with. There is something in the universe that connects Megs with a great parking spot, exactly when we need one! I have considered asking her to hang around with me during major holidays just to ensure I get a good parking spot – but maybe that is stretching the friendship! Sidetracked again! Back to our pho...as usual I am the last to finish as I have been talking all night. Don’t get me wrong, I was with two chatterboxes, so I really working hard at getting my words in! As I am enjoying the last two spoonfuls of pho, having already spotted my blouse with multiple splashes from the evil rice noodle flopping around trying to escape my spoon, and realising that I put too much chilli in my soup and that I was sphitzing (but then we all know about my addiction to chilli!), the three of us stopped mid sentence to watch the horror unfold.
It was falling as if in slow motion. This thing caught our attention and we watched it fall so gracefully from the ceiling, gliding through the air like an acrobat at the prison camp (oops I mean the Cirque de Soleil). This thing was aiming for my slippery spoon. He wanted that last drop of pho and who was I to stop him? The acrobat landed so gracefully on the spoon as if it were on a ride at Wet’n’Wild and spun like a Russian gymnast contorting for a perfect 10, right into my soup. Splash! There it was, like crunchy manna from heaven – a cockroach had infiltrated our Thursday night date and we were introduced to our newest member, Clem the Cocky. Needless to say – I never got that last sip of my soup and the horror that this happened at our favourite Pho place devastates us, but the rule is three strikes and you’re out, isn’t it?
No more soup for me...
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revolting!
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