Two thirds of my household has been stricken with a plague, much like our poor Lambchop, and the other third has been stricken with large capacity existentialism. Â As a result, we all very much want to lie down, thank you. Except the child, who prefers tearing around, no matter how high the fever. Her brain must have already melted, poor little sprocket.
Maybe our problem is actually carbon monoxide, not mono. I have detectors propped in each bedroom since I was all worried about the fire department’s inspection of our construction, but the guy didn’t even look at them, so I never bothered to add batteries. Deceit!
Finally, a poll: Who thinks marsala mushroom sauce is a good idea to pair with filet mignon? Answer: not me. But that could be the existentialism talking. And talk it does! On and on in my ear. Â Nothing seems like a good idea, and since I typically trade in bad ideas, this should not be surprising, yet somehow it is a handicap.
