I was reading French Women Don't Get Fat. It's hilarious. Gave me insight on some gastronomic wisdom. But eventually I had to but down the book because well, it made me feel guilty, and I was beginning to think like pretentious francophile. So naturally, I decided to read my old french notes which have been collecting two years worth of dust, and test myself on old french phrases I've learnt. I don't know shit.

Discouraged, I gave up. Turned on the TV. Watched some trash. MTV's MY OWN was on. And it happened to be the Justin Timberlake episode. Until...The doorbell rang.

I thought it was my family cause they've been out the whole day. But no. It was the pizza delivery guy. I was stunned for a bit because I don't remember ordering pizza. Also, there I was clad in my stupid holy black tee, really ugly brown pants, hair like Niagra falls looking worse for wear. I opened the door anyways. (Now, wouldn't it have been funny if I had actually changed. For the pizza guy?!). I scared the dude for a good 10 minutes insisting I didn't order any pizza. (Who rejects pizza, K?!) Yeah, turns out my mum ordered it for me. Bless her soul, she still wants me to live.