The Sorry Sausage Of Erin!

Poor Erin.

She's like. "Wow, these sausages look great, I'll take eight".

I'm like. "If you want, I'll look after your sausages while you look in shops".

So Erin looks in shops, chats, has a fine time. Gets back to my place, says her good byes, jumps in her car, drives home to Melbourne. See ya later Erin!

Some hours later... I'm getting abit peckish. I go to the fridge, have a look, and there lies the sorry sausage of Erin.

On a lighter note (For me that is). I cooked up the sausages; and they were bloody beautiful mate.