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Petty Things That Get On Your Nerves...


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It's not that difficult...

I've just moved back to Stirling after being back in Fife for a while, and all my clothes are in a holdall. When I got up this morning, I realised that I was lifting the last pair of boxers and the last pair of socks out the bag, because I must've left the rest back at home.

I could go and wash the ones that are in the basket, but the machines here are communal and cost a bomb, and I'd just have to do the same thing again in about 3 days.

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It's not that difficult...

I've just moved back to Stirling after being back in Fife for a while, and all my clothes are in a holdall. When I got up this morning, I realised that I was lifting the last pair of boxers and the last pair of socks out the bag, because I must've left the rest back at home.

I could go and wash the ones that are in the basket, but the machines here are communal and cost a bomb, and I'd just have to do the same thing again in about 3 days.

Now, you've led us all up the garden path here somewhat.

I'm convinced you were trying to give the impression that your tallywhacker is such a behemoth that it stretches three pairs of kecks a day into ruin, instead of you just being unable to pack a rucksack.

Shenanigans!

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It's not that difficult...

I've just moved back to Stirling after being back in Fife for a while, and all my clothes are in a holdall. When I got up this morning, I realised that I was lifting the last pair of boxers and the last pair of socks out the bag, because I must've left the rest back at home.

I could go and wash the ones that are in the basket, but the machines here are communal and cost a bomb, and I'd just have to do the same thing again in about 3 days.

Why no just go commando?

Nothing wrong with a bit of free ballin'.

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I was crazy about this girl when I was 17. She was intelligent, funny and we shared exactly the same sense of humour. She used to constantly tell me about what a dick her boyfriend was (I knew he was dipping it about anyway) and one day she came in cut and bruised (we worked together part-time when we were students). She denied it for ages but it was obvious he'd cracked her a belter and thrown her about as well. She eventually admitted it and made the usual victim platitudes - 'He's so sorry', 'He's promised never to do it again' and so on.

Then one day she walked in with a ring on and beamed about engagement. Everyone else at the work was clucking and delighted, and I remember her asking me something like: "Are you going to congratulate me?"

I went mental at her and told her what I knew (as well as the domestic violent cliché lecture), and she basically never spoke to me again for about seven or eight years. I was fucking crushed at the time.

One day I was in the Solid Rock in Glasgow and got this tap on the shoulder, turned round and there she was. We had a bit of a drink and a chat and she was laughing about this dick she'd got rid of and basically thanked me for trying to talk sense into her.

So, the point is: do what you think is right, even if it's the hard thing. Best of luck.

Bloody hell. Luckily it's nothing like that. I think I'll just play it by ear for a few weeks. But if I get drunk this weekend that could all change. I'm very proud that I resisted the temptation to tell her on Friday when I was absolutely out of my cake. Hopefully I will have my head on if I'm drinking this weekend.

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Bloody hell. Luckily it's nothing like that. I think I'll just play it by ear for a few weeks. But if I get drunk this weekend that could all change. I'm very proud that I resisted the temptation to tell her on Friday when I was absolutely out of my cake. Hopefully I will have my head on if I'm drinking this weekend.

Helluva situation. It's a morality play in the ongoing drama of life. :(

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