Thae curst horse-leeches o’ the’ Excise.


P: Have you heard of Robbie Burns Scotch?

M: No. Where’s it from?

P: Scotland.

M (trying not to roll eyes): Right. Of course.

P: I found it online and the reviews are pretty good.

M (doing a Google search): Hm, okay. Oh, it’s from Arran. Now is that one I’ve been to, or just seen? I think I’ve just seen it. Hm.

P: Does it look like something you’d like?

M: Well…Light? Fruity? Not really. I like my whisky angry.

P (curling up his nose): Really?

M: A smoky, peaty mess. A punch in the face.

P (disappointed): Oh.

M: I mean, I’d probably be okay with it, but it’s not something I’m gonna love, I can tell you that. Also, I haven’t been drinking whisky much. Psychological worries. I feel weird about drinking whisky alone.

P: Eh, if someone else is home, you’re not drinking alone.

M: Uh…

M (to herself, later): Hm, it’s good thing I don’t like my men, or my friends, like I like my whisky, especially with this kind of snobbish attitude. Why isn’t everyone punching me always?

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