Friday, 26 September 2008
I forget to brush my hair, I walk into a room and forget what I was actually going into the room for and I can even go to a shop three times and still get everything except what I needed yet how come we, as woman, can recall and catalogue just about every fuckup our significant (or not so significant at times) others have committed? With the lightning quick ability to load our proverbial gun with these bullets of wrong doings from the past, do our men ever really stand a chance? Especially when they forget our birthday, our anniversary and of course the time they were supposed to come home at.
⋅ Labels: eloquence of silence