Tears are fallin’. And yet I love the culprit.
If there was ever a guerrilla-style war fought in the streets of East Vancouver, all they’d have to do to get me to stumble out in the street would be to throw a couple of peeled onions in the windows. Honest, I’ve only ever met one other person who’s this onion-sensitive. But he’s more of a masochist than I — he took a job as a sous-chef. Don’t weep for me, weep for him.
Pass me your hanky?
Entries (RSS)