
Urban legends have it that I tend to opt
for the easy way out and hide and avoid and deny and forget and more or less
gracefully dodge bullets and steer away from sticky situations (unless it’s
bubble-gum-flavour-ice-lolly sticky situations. In which particular case, I’m
game) and my abilities as a most talented escape artist have been reported on on
numerous occasions.
In my defense, the quiet (or, nothingness)
after the madness pompously rolled out the red carpet for my head to wave
goodbye to reality and set sail for dreams; and for this very reason dreaded
deadly blood tests at seven in the morning have resulted in robotic
I-have-convinced-myself-I-am-still-asleep-and-that’s-not-really-a-needle type
behaviours that cause slight perplexity in hospitals; post-delivery client
amends with a deadline of yesterday
in mystical tales of guardian angels named Shane; and mooncake moulds missing
in action and monthly expeditions to the
strip and one birthday cake training session too many (however: I am so
loved) in the creation of chocolate & biscuit spread bars that take less
than one German experimental music album to whip up and if they didn’t
dramatically worsen biscuit spread addiction and cause fatness and a spotty
face you would think they are a gift from the empyrean because they’re
delicious like that.
Now before I make my easy way out of this
too, to go stuff myself with biscuit spread bars, I wish to share with
posterity one last pearl of wisdom: the easy way out and white chocolate
Biscoff bars is better than no way out and no white chocolate Biscoff bars.


