So, my dad died, and I’m not one to give parenting advice, but he wasn’t stellar.
I wanted a free churro, because of course that’s how I deal: psychoanalysis was a good investment, mum, for sure.
My best friend and I scouted this tiny city in this county for a Mexican restaurant, which was very hard to find - because people have a peculiar thing about having funerals not in the place a person lived their entire life but the panoramic gaelic shithole they were born in -, but we finally managed and I got my free churro.
I don’t think it was because of our detailed Bojack related explanation, but because mostly because we’re two good looking young girls. The asking of digits kind of gave that away.
Now: was it me, my ambivalent grief, my need to never reach 7 stone, my impulse to be a contrarian always, or churros are actually terrible?
A bite tastes like all the fat in the world has been condensed, covered in a layer of old fat and bathed in sugar, giving your needed caloric intake for a week and a half.
Churros suck and everything is worse now.
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