In honour of Family Day, I'm not putting up a real post today but here's just a little something to tide you over til the next one.
If you know me in real life you know that I recently moved to the hood into a new place. Although I was living alone before I moved, this is the first place I've lived that was totally mine, which is great because unlike my last apartment, nobody else's stuff is in here and I can put everything exactly where I want it. Problem is when I lose things I have no one else to blame. Or so I thought.
Case in point: ever since I moved I have not been able to find my bible. I know I own one, I know where I used to keep it, and I know I moved everything but it was nowhere to be found. This has been bugging me for weeks now so yesterday I decided I was going to search top to bottom and not give up until I found it.
Do you want to know where I found it? In my "goodie" box under my bed buried underneath certain um, toys and suchlike. I know I did not put it there and only two people helped me pack - my little sister and my father. This tells me that depravity runs in my family.
