Eggshell thin skull.

The last time I felt so gutted about somebody leaving on a jetplane was...well, a good while back. I hate to admit it, but despite my cynical outlook on life, I can be a sentimental sap who tends to forget his desire to be a despicable cad. Not that my outlook has changed much; I'm still the same gaming-loving, arse-scratching, pot-bellied scoundrel that you knew since Day 1. However, sad to say, it doesn't take much to change my outlook from a shitty perspective to a rosy one. The worst thing about having someone worm their way through to your chewy, caramel center is that you have to start assuming responsibilities in ensuring their well-being, be it physical (whoopee!) or emotional (not so whoopee).

People tend to forfeit one for the other; I'm quite sure I've managed to find the balance between the two, because time has granted me the wisdom to differentiate one from the other.

What does it all mean? Matching His and Her towels? Cook-ins? China sets? Oven mitts? A scene resembling a Haagen Daaz* advert?

I don't know.

I can flip the bird to Foreigner and proudly stick out my man-tits and proclaim that I know what Love is.

It's a fucking pain.




*Contrary to popular belief, Haagen Daaz is not European.