My computer is old. I’ll admit. But why is it that I can read my emails but not send any? If you weren’t going to work on a computer, wouldn’t you just not work completely instead of torturing me with emails I can’t return or send?
This is tickling me so much I can’t even tell you. Let me mull it over a little and get back to you after the folks are gone.
Absolutely. We must go check out the place behind Purity.
In response to your Christmas card, I just wanted to say that what I’ve always appreciated about you is your willingness to tolerate people’s weirdness. It put me at ease.
To my Present-Sending Midwestern Reader,
The Butcher actually got the box out of the mailbox and then left it on the table under some other crap. I finally found it and opened it, and much to his chagrin at the moment, it was not a box of SARS.
Hurray, and thanks. The tiny shampoo was a delightful touch.
So, we’ll all be there about three, okay?
Ha, ha, just kidding. We have to go to the Parthenon, but not in the Parthenon, and then to Ryan’s.