Ah. The sweetness of ward parties. All scorn is left at the door and all the lameness is welcomed with open arms. It's like everyone gets a pass to be as stupid and corny as they want without having to have a special badge.
And then there is always the one person in the ward that has talent, usually only one though. And the talent is magnified by the contrast of the lack there of surrounding it.
Our Christmas ward party was a few days ago and it was a doosy in the lameness department, but it also has a strange, familiar property to it also. It's as if everybody understands what the other person was trying to do even if they didn't do what they intended.
Wouldn't it be impressive if I could express an Australian accent through this blog?
Our Christmas gift from an anonymous friend was soap. Do not laugh, or cough, for this was signature, designer, lusty soap. Maybe minus the lusty. You will have to ask Jackie. But there were so many different fantastic scents and they were all hand made by friends, what more could a recipient ask for? Ah the sweet smell of fat scrapped from bovine underparts....
The end.
In which my teenage self unloads his thoughts, wishes, discoveries, and talks a lot about horses and raw food.
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