Shane is in the doghouse, figuratively speaking, of course. When Der Bingle opened the door to take Alison to work, Shane took off like a drone manned by a crazy psycho. Bad. But it gets worse: I am in the doghouse also. My cell phone went to voicemail and I didn’t hear the kitchen phone so I was unaware of this and Der Bingle had to chase “the dog” down.
I was informed of the cellphone and kitchen phone aspect when he returned.
I can’t stay in my doghouse because we have another person sick here and one person who needs help with daily tasks (PC talk would be special needs) . . . so I, myself, am unaware whether the report tonight will be upbeat of just a big bloc of white space where the lack of writing screams, I’M POUTING AND IN A REAL SNIT!!!.
Better get the flares ready to put in a circle around me.