Expensive Stuff

I was at dinner with my extended family, unable to relax or take more than an obligatory part in the conversation. I was hiding scraps of weed in one of my hands, desperately searching for a safe way to get rid of the stuff.

Opportunity seemed to present itself: a bowl of pesto afforded my schwag the finest camouflage one could ask of an Italian dinner. Deciding that I would sort it out later, I deposited my forbidden valuables in the bowl.

It was only then that I realized: pesto isn't usually stored in liquid. In this particular case, it was. I saw then that it wasn't just any liquid, either - it was my sister's perfume.

As she began to look at me, aghast, I insisted that I would sort the pesto out from her perfume, promising to lose as little perfume as possible. She seemed unconvinced.

What my extended family thought, I have no idea. That was when I woke up.