Y’all, I am sad.
The Professor is sick. I offered to bring her food. She said no.
But she also sat in my house all weekend, graciously dog-sitting.
And left her sickly germs all over the house.
So, now I’m sick.
I should go home, but… sing along America… the Butcher has my car.
You do something cool, I’ll totally brag about you, so don’t even bother bitching about it.
Anyway, the Divine Ms. B. continues to set New England on fire! Good luck, darling. Knock ’em dead.
…Mule Town… tee hee.
Usually, at this point, I’d tell you all some anecdote that would give you a glimpse of Ms. B’s personality and the contours of our relationship, but so many relevant stories involve intoxication and evenings of public nudity–not topics fit for a family-friendly blog such as this one–that instead I’ll just point you back to a little story about her cat.
Mrs. Wigglebottom has a reputation–hard-earned by her biting my cousin four years ago–that she doesn’t get along well with little kids.
Sunday night, my oldest nephew dragged her from the kitchen, across the dining/laundry room, and way into the front room. Then, he sat down and she dragged him back into the kitchen. This went on for a half an hour.
Then, she was very sad when he left.
Is it really that big a score to hack into Andrew Sullivan’s blog? I mean, of all the sites to set your sights on, Andrew Sullivan?
[Edited to add that it’s fixed. Still, lamest hack ever.]