tiresome Tuesday

I keep spare blankets under the bed in storage boxes. Monday night the cats were scuffling under the bed at oh dark thirty, but it barely impinged on my consciousness. Five AM the alarm clock went off, I rolled out of bed with my usual heedless enthusiasm (I'm still only 16 years old until I hit the floor.) took one step, and tripped over a storage box. I did NOT plunge headfirst through the mirrored closet doors, not did I go base over apex into the dresser, but I did succumb violently to the laws of gravity. I have a nice collection of bruises and sore spots, and was taking asprins all day long to mitigate further consequences. I figured, like eating a live cockroach first thing in the morning, nothing worse would happen all day.



But then I got a call from the Transcendent Peace Potter's Commune and Herb Farm. They had just received a letter from Bobby. I thought he had gone home to them. The letter read, "Lulu has brok my heart and left. She mad a ful ov me in front ov my frends an famly and I cannt stand to see them laffing at me or wurse, feeling sory for me. So I am going away. Mabe someone will bucher me for mutton. I donnt care. I love you all. Bobby"



So, if anyone should see a young ram with a nipple ring and a serious case of drama, give us a shout, would you? I wonder if there's a French Mouton Legion? If he were a bit taller, he'd probably try to join the Marines.