This morning, The Tamera is on her futon half-awake having a conversation with whichever member of the Greco-Roman pantheon is responsible for the legs, probably Mercury/Hermes: "No! No, no. Nooo!"
This is not her favorite time of the year. We're in the middle of an unseasonably-warm stretch, with a twenty or more degree temperature swing between noon and midnight (or three and three, probably) and she feels it in her bones. Offers of breakfast have not tempted her from her lair. I've turned up the TV and that should, eventually, lure her out. Oh, Tamara....it's neeewws! Freshly-slanted news!
(Later: Yep, worked.)
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago