Unfortunately they made friends right under my kitchen table, and so I had to brutally murder one and set the other one free. A terrible decision, 'which one lives and which one dies'...I didn't have time! Did I make the right decision? Was making my decision based on not wanting to feel the centipede squish in my hand the right basis?
This may haunt me until the day I die.
I may move to New York City and meet a handsome man and pretend it never happened, but he'll sense something is wrong...and finally, one alcohol-ridden night, I'll tell him.
Are you getting these Sophie's Choice references, or are they wasted on you, you idiot? Maybe they're wasted on you because I don't remember much about that movie...just the moving to New York City and the pretending it never happened. I really can't remember how she told him, and if there was alcohol involved. Who's the idiot now?