Newton be our bitch.
Y’ know it!
Should do it sometime soon, it be fun.
…y’ get de bourbon we c’n disprove gravity an’ do shots.
At least we know we have plenty in common. *chuckles* You ramble for a bit then, it’s only fair.
Mais non, chere. Ain’ got not’in’ wort’ ramblin’ ‘bout righ’ at de moment. Don’ worry, will happen.
Yes, precisely! *pleased that someone else understands this*
*Unfortunately, this sets off a five-minute ramble theorising that the relative climates and respective availability of international spice trade are also responsible for the discrepancy between traditional British and French tastes over the centuries. Eventually, she claps a hand over her mouth and looks rather sheepish.*
Er, sorry. My mouth tends to run away on me sometimes.
Don’ y’all worry none. It happens t’ de best o’ us. Dis one know he c’n get carried away from time t’ time.