Secretly, I'm dead inside
Goodbye, Ingrid Pitt. I really have no excuse not to watch The Vampire Lovers (1970) now.
(We now return to your regularly scheduled cooking way too many things.)
(We now return to your regularly scheduled cooking way too many things.)
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...
Yeah.
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Yeah.
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I hope you can watch the movie soon. Enjoy the cooking! I hope all goes well.
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My hair caught fire, but the tagine's fine.
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I lost about three inches off one hank before I could put it out, which upsets me whenever I think about it, but the rest of me is unburnt. It's still not a kitchen experience I recommend.
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Was about to start asking loudly, at least in the metaphorical sense, if you were okay, but I see somebody's already asked that for me, and that you've answered.
I'm very, very glad you're okay. I've not so many friends that I can lose a one of them. Take care of yourself and be careful, please? I know you will be, and I'm sorry for being so soppy and emotional, but this is a time of year when I'm given to being so, or at least even more than usual.
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I am not going to die in a kitchen fire. I'd feel really stupid afterward.
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Thank you.
I'd feel really stupid afterward.
Not to mention that I'd have some very harsh words to say to you at the next opportunity.
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Thank you—I didn't know.