Socialite suicide.

The owners of blogger.comwould have charged me with these huuuge amounts of money if I published the flaws my mother has comitted at her b-day soiree this Sunday... The flaws are numerous and difficult to count, however, one thing could be stipulated for sure - they are incommensurable. Lately, there were hords of different topics I wanted to devote cyber space to, nevertheless, although I did intended to do so, I did not got myself round to actually put them into effect. Why have I actually chosen this particular topic if it is of little, to say the least, relevance, interest and fun to me? Well, the answer might be as following: I could not stand IT happening for the millionth time again... The party-failure[s] my mum is responsible for and a master of. To enumerate just a few there are for instance not letting your guests to utter a word, speak louder than is needed, interrupt when a guest actually GOT to speaking [God, I wish she was accustomed with the floor management rules and or principles... Mr. Grice is revolving in his grave, literally...]. Then, to make things worse, her mum, my grannie, that is, cut into my mum's utterances more than often. This, on the whole, contributed to make the ensemble's rendition[występ] even more chaotic than enthropia... I'm telling you... a social nightmare... social life suicide...