28 December 2008

leaves on a chalkboard.

One of my friends (I can't remember which one) just cannot figure out my sense of repulsion when confronted with an accidentally stepped-upon potato chip. I HATE it. It's like nails on a chalkboard. I hear the sound of it in my head for hours. Even thinking about it threatens to bring about the same lingering thought.
WELL. It is for that person, whoever s/he may be, that I post this update: same applies to dried out leaves of the conical variety, on a hardwood floor. I have just discovered. Sigh.

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