Okay, character combination. Miss Crawford - wanting Tom Bertram to die + young Jane Eyre = Me.
In a shocking turn of events, I have discovered that I like Rose tea. It's always sounded so gross. Rose tea. I don't even like rose scented anything, so I really couldn't imagine this tasting good. But what can I say, if Julie hadn't been there, I would have drunk the entire pot by myself. Really sad: I just had to look up the conditional perfect for "drink," to make certain I was getting it right. Anyways, before you know it, I'll be liking English Breakfast (which I've never tried, just 'cause there have always been other things around I preferred). But that's a golden standard, it must be good, right? Am I an old lady if I want to put tea bags in my dresser drawers to make my clothes smell nice? Yes, I think that does age me about fifty years automatically.
I don't know why I didn't remember having already blogged The Simpsons and Hairspray. I thought I wrote it and it was just sitting around as an unpublished draft. So, my bad.
