Blood, blood, blood.

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I’m trying not to cuss too much in this blog because I know there are those of you who don’t take it too kindly. God bless you, you weren’t brought up in my foul-mouthed family.

So I’ve been searching for a way to express how sourly angry I am today without swearing, and I finally came up with one: Winston Churchill’s muttered epithet “Blood, blood, blood”.

First it was Indian sweets. Then someone plunks down two trays of monstrous gourmet cupcakes ten feet over my right shoulder. There just aren’t words foul enough.


2 Responses to “Blood, blood, blood.”

  1. Naomi Says:

    Maybe if you visualise the cupcakes dipped in blood?

    (I know. Disgusting.) 🙂

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