(Don’t worry it was a mistake- and it was only really a small part of it to boot)
And I think all the spray paint I’ve been using lately has finally gone to my head and I’m beginning to feel a bit woozy.
(I wish I could say that was an accident)
But the truth is, with Christmas just around the door I’ve shackled myself to the oven so that I can make candles on the stove top while my father rushes my mother to the hospital.
That’s right. I’m making candles. Piss coloured candles too, due to the poor quality of the yellow dye we purchased.
We’re giving a candle to everyone we know, although personally, I can’t imagine a single soul on this planet who would be grateful to receive a urine-coloured candle for Christmas. But there’s always something to be said for personal taste, I suppose. To my mother’s credit, it’s been awhile since we’ve made candles and she is the kind of woman with a tendency to bite of more than she can chew. Or cut off more than she can fix with a couple of bandages. Nonetheless…
Oh well, duty calls, and it’s quite a stretch to type when one is bound hand and foot to a stove halfway across the room. Je m’excuse, non-existent readers, but I have some piss-coloured wax to pour into some flower pots. With all the work I’m putting into this project, there had better be at least one thank you. All the blood, sweat and tears… I did mention the blood, right?