Friday, September 14, 2012

Quality control

Meaty smells were wafting out of the oven as L cooked, and Rupert just had to go for a sniff.

"He's quality control, our personal FDA," I joked as L tried to shoo him out.

"Well, anyone would pass his standards, they're not that high," L retorted as Roop went from sniffing the oven door to sniffing the dustbin.

"Err, he's China FDA."

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