It had been a very long time between drinks. But then, it had been a very long time between anything even remotely moist had touched Molly's lips. "Luuuuucy," Molly enchanted, "time for the hose..."

Molly asked Lucy to stop blowing things out of the water. As much as Lucy understood Molly's concern, she was enjoying her rigorous duck shooting training and would not stop. For anyone!!

Lucy was MIA. Not literally - MIA was MIA the superstar. Not to say Lucy wasn't a superstar. Just not MIA. 

Words are nothing but wind. And farts. 

"Off with his head" she screamed. Molly was wielding a kitchen clever, poised menacingly over the innocent cauliflower, drunk with power. And wine. 

Against her friend's cautionary advice, Molly was seen dancing with the devil at Steve and Lauren's wedding. 

Lucy's cheeks were flushed with anticipation. Her face looked pink too. The strain was too much...

Waiting..... always waiting. Lucy wondered when the opportunity to show off her Irish dancing skills would be revealed.

Molly extended an olive branch to Lucy, who swiftly threw it in the mulcher.

Molly desperately wanted to chew the fat with Lucy. But she couldn't. She was vegetarian. 

Mum had told her before, but Molly was re-learning life's little lessons; #26 Never run up escalators in wide leg pants.

"That's the way the cookie crumbles," demonstrated Molly to the nervous smattering of adolescents. Molly was attempting to whip life lessons into her weekly cooking class.

Lucy wondered why the shop keeper looked at her funny.... She certainly wasn't the one wearing crocs in public

Molly's head pounded like a drum, with an unmedicated maniac at the helm. Molly wanted to break his wrists.

Molly was devastated. Her ship had sailed and she was marooned in the harbor. Fuck, she breathed loudly.

Although Molly was feeling blue, her mood ring was a beguiling happy orange.

Molly had decided to jump on the bandwagon. Although clearly a metaphorical mode of transport, she packed her overnight bag and waited eagerly by the roadside.

When Molly heard that Lucy was bushwhacked, she misinterpreted her friends disappearance as a Brazilian wax gone horrifically wrong.

All Molly could do was watch on in horror as Lucy cut the rug. Literally, by dragging her sharp heels in small cut-step fancy footwork.

What next? Thought Lucy as she took to the Nutbush for one final solo...