Juice

It was me who finished the juice father, I apologise.

I will start at the beginning as I hang my cyber head in shame and make this confession. You see I have a tendency and unbearable need to undermine people when they try to prevent me from something; especially if that something is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted at half past midnight after I have had my lovely toast.

The plan (your plan) I will admit was that of a genius. The trick was to hide the beautiful and rare tropical juice in a Tropicana carton for ORANGE JUICE- WITH EXTRA BITS (you crazy cat). Now you know that I was the previous drinker of the juice and you have also learned of my deep hatred for fucking extra bits. This is where your genius becomes apparent and YET my dear- you suffer a downfall.

Because when I come to the fridge insane with thirst I find myself in a battle: the choice between suffering these bits or my equal distaste of Asda orange juice- sometimes you just have to take the risk. Boy oh boy- sweet unexpected tropical juice- did it pay off.

The juice that you so tactfully hid from me- has gone.

Also- we are out of crunchy peanut butter.