One night, Mr. F attended a gathering organized by his company. In the middle of the night, I received a call from his colleague who explained that I would be required to pick Mr. F up as he was extremely drunk. Apparently, Mr. F refused to leave, and was obstinately hugging the beer bottles whilst hollering for me.
I was at a loss as to whether to cry or laugh, and simply hurried over after changing into a more appropriate outfit. As I was driving home, Mr. F sat at the front passenger’s seat, and stared at me with his bight eyes. Whenever Mr. F is drunk, he morphs into an extremely cute little child, and would answer whatever questions that are posed to him.
As such, I teased him, “Who are you?”
“XX!” He announced his name loudly.
“Then who am I?”
“Sophie Marceau!”
What? Is Mr. F even thinking straight? “It’s impossible for Sophie Marceau to come and fetch you! I’d give you one more chance – who am I?”
“Audrey Hepburn!” He laughed goofily.
I had no choice but to follow his train of thought, “Who’s prettier – Audrey Hepburn or Sophie Marceau?”