They’re back . . .

 

Hello. I have expressed this BEFORE and I am doing it again: They are plastic and they are garish. I don’t care for plastic flowers, but I can deal with them, imagining the people who place them on graves can’t afford real flowers. But, for goodness sake, what is it with the manufacturers and these colors? What must the Chinese workers think of us?

Oh, are these for Easter? Well, they are still ugly. That’s my opinion.

 

The sun! The sun!

Feels like 32 this morning. Supposed to be a high of 54. My sentences are short, which, according to Der Bingle, is a rarity. Oops . . . Looks like AmeliaJake is returning to her usual self, and, actually the first two things with periods after them in this post are phrases, not sentences at all.

I once read that Alan Greenspan says his IQ is 20 points higher in the morning than the afternoon; it is looking like I wake up at 3:47 pm every day.

I am the only one here who is not sick; everyone is saying, “so far” to me when I remark on it. I keep telling them to stay away, which has its own benefits. Yesterday I started cleaning the garage and now all these potential helpers are down and out. In fact, as I started working in the garage, Summer opened the door and told me her throat was scratchy. Hmmmm.

I woke from a nightmare this morning in which I was venomously yelling at people in the house and other people who had come in the house for a meeting . . . You’d think my throat would be sore, come to think of it.  But it’s not.

Now let’s hope I haven’t jinxed myself. Of course, even if it gets sore, I don’t have to tell anyone. No reason I should join the symptom-talking chicken noodle pack when I can just keep quiet and be off by myself.

And, as an added bonus, the sun is supposed to be out all day today. So, let me enjoy this blue sky, although I think I will keep a ten foot pole close at hand.

BACK! BACK! YOU SICK FIENDS. Hey, I never claimed to be Mother Teresa.