So, see, I’m totally justified in spreading out my completed, but sopping wet afghan on the Butcher’s bed to dry, not because he’s going to be gone for a few days only to call and ask what the name of the diamond building in Chicago is named (Smurfit-Stone) and not to tell me he got there, but because he took my house keys, so I had to break into my own house.
Filed under: The Butcher, arts & crafts
