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Chillin, Onemana

My idea of a perfect holiday: people you love, light glinting on waves, sun-scorched sand, damp togs, ice-cream melting down your fingers, camp chairs on a deck, salads and chilled wine, early afternoon siestas, spending not too much time with an excellent book, ambling along the beach at dusk, sandy feet, the mild Cajun heat of sunburn on your shoulders, falling asleep to a chorus of cicadas.

Andrew’s idea of a perfect holiday: propelling himself over rough terrain at vast speeds and making up words for ‘bored’.

Hard to find a middle ground.

Biting off more than he can chew: Jed attempts to fetch the swing.


Comments on: "Chillin, Onemana" (2)

  1. Can’t Andrew propel himself across whatever while you’re siesting? Or are you each expecting the other to, umm, participate somehow in your respective activities?

  2. deadlyjelly said:

    I discourage spousal participation of any type, especially when Andrew sets about re-engineering the deckchairs.

    However, Andrew seems to expect some level of audience participation in his – admittedly awe-inspiring – demonstration of how often he can fit the phrase “I’m bored” into any conversation or given timeframe. Note: asking him why he didn’t bring a book is apparently considered heckling.


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