“Brevyn’s surprise seemed to dissolve quickly into a look of rich amusement. “Should I take that as a dare, Samuel?”” (Writhe, page 72)
Somebody’s in trouble.
Whether it’s you or me I have no idea, but somebody blew it big time.
Anybody care to guess the infraction?
*crickets chirp marring the
complete silence*
What goodie did you not receive Saturday? What mouthful of smutty
sweetness did you miss yesterday?
That’s right. A Taste of Writhe was forgotten by one and all
Saturday.
While ostensibly this seems to be the blogger’s fault, said-blogger
would like to point out that no bloggee mentioned this omission.
Fault. It’s as thick as peanut butter around here this morning and it’s
sticking to us all.
*a communal eye roll of the
crickets precedes the chaps hopping away in disgust*
Alright.
Perhaps, the fault is mine alone.
Just maybe I’m the only one with peanut butter in their hair this
morning.
If that happens to be the case, I would like to apologize. My failure
as a good, trustworthy blogger has been noted and I will wear this guilt as a
stain to my reputation… a creamy peanut butter smear on the Chloe Stowe name.
*Frank chucks a couch pillow at
my face before rolling his eyes*
As the specter of imminent failure (Frankie-boy) is even telling me it’s
time to get off the stage this morning, I will concede and skulk off to the
side, stage-left.
Until tonight, when a triumphant return will be made…
Chloe
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