This morning there was an alien in my tea. I was startled to say the least. He looked friendly, so I didn't have the heart to pour him down the drain. I scooped him gently out with a spoon, placed him into a glass bowl so he could see the world around him and left him to his own devices.
My toaster objected.
He said, "None of those in here, missy, you'll be sorry."
But I told him to mind his own business. I rule my kitchen.
Brebax 679 told me so.
Photo copyright Karen Schindler
Aliens are cute. There's just something about the big eyes. Like Bambi. But unlike Bambi they'll disembowel you in a wink.
Aliens are cute. Right up until the second they're not. Then you're not…. well, you, anymore. You're just a mass of wriggling entrails, spilling onto the floor wondering (a) why the hell you wore heels during a chase scene, and (b) why the hell you didn't think to plunge three inches of pointy stiletto into one of those big cute alien eyes.