I don't know what she's got but it arrived after days of a dry cough and had turned into a nastily-sore throat by last night. Trying to play nursemaid this morning, I offered oatmeal ("Um, no.") and the bacon and runny-yolked eggs I made instead, having mistaken a lack of interest in breakfast at all for a lack of interest in cooked rolled oats, was greeted with a skeptical eye. (In a spirit of helpfulness, I voluntarily reduced the amount of bacon she would have to eat -- I'm a public benefactrix, I am.)
She's back on the living-room couch, suffering quietly, and I'll be needing to empty the dishwasher before I hit the shower, and thus, my friends, thus I must depart post-hastily.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago