I have a friend (we’ll call him james (I couldn’t for the life of me remember what jim was short for the other day. I kept thinking jimothy) who’s gone out with a girl (we’ll call her lady) a couple of times and decided she wasn’t the girl for him. She, however, was convinced that she was meant to be his cuddle muffin (well, either that or she just didn’t want to face the rejection).
They went out to ice cream and he broke the news about not wanting to have her babies. This upset her – so much that when he left for a second, she actually poured nail polish remover into his ice cream! Now in her defense, you would think one would notice that their ice cream tastes a little bit like rubbing alcohol, but james likes ice cream – you can’t blame the guy – so he finished it off and then took her home…and then took himself to the emergency room an hour later on account of he had been poisoned (doesn’t this sound like a csi episode??). luckily, he lived to tell the story. Unluckily, he’ll probably have traces of nail polish remover in his body forever and if medical breakthroughs someday show that lining your stomach with nail polish is the answer for living forever, I don’t think he’ll make it