When you refuse to acknowledge the day that is February 14, or are young, or have housemates which are you best friends... on Valentines day, you get fucked up.
How fucked up?
You know you are loved when your housemate takes you from a party in the early morning and say, "Wow, Jessica, we have to go. You're partied out and this can only end in you getting raped. Home time."
Cut to us struggling with both our keys to open the front door.
I wake up with my boots next to my head, still half wrapped in the metallic, pink, spandex dress from the night and I smell a little like a worn out hag.
It's half seven in the morning and I can't sleep anymore. Insomnia loves me. When all my friends left me, insomnia was there to cuddle me through it. When Germany left me, insomnia stayed. When everything breaks down, insomnia sticks to its guns.
Insomnia's a bitch.
So, when Lute forced himself out of bed at midday, you both decided that pho would be the only good option, seeing you both through the day and returning you to normal human status.
Totally the plate of add-ons.
Lute and I have a wonderful understanding with this plate. We halve everything, but he takes all the beanshoots and I take all the chilis.
I don't like how the beanshoots make the broth cold. I know you can ask them to steam them for you to prevent that, but I also like my beanshoots raw.
I know, I'm fussy.
The Small Special Beef. This translates to spare parts. See that wonderful tendon at the bottom and the tentacle of tripe swimming out?
Lute- I don't know how you do it.
Me- It's the treasure you dig for in the animal. Nomnomnomnomnom.
My chili tower is almost complete. I didn't feel it was right asking them for another bowl of chili. I have done it before and they look at me like I am trying to kill myself.
And, my dipping station. You see, Lute adds every single condiment he can to the bowl, and well, I don't. I have a friend that does that and she just ends up with sludge water and knows to not do it, but falls into the trap every time.
The thing with food that each thing that I eat regularly reminds me of a time or an emotion. Unfortunately with pho, it means I am either hungover or depressed.
The corner of Lonsdale and Russell St, Melbourne...next to that strange Mai Tai place that has been open for longer than I have been alive but NO ONE has ever been there.
Otherwise known by the round-eye friends of mine as "Cow and Chicken."