There's nothing interesting about me, except the fact that I really should stop switching blogs.

Another pretentious way of saying "Bitch, please."

Gray clouds of steam rolled out of the kettle, two teabags anal-retentively armed in the porcelain teacups. The table is set for greatness; pink, white and hints of turquoise transformed the otherwise ancient kitchen island into a Barbie-worthy afternoon.

"How many sugar cubes?" He asked, his hands dipped midway into the sugar pot.

The empty chair stared back blankly at the boy.
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