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I’m tired and the porch has sprung a leak that appears to be connected to the master bathroom shower and we don’t know any local handymen and I have one week to finish all the art for Fairybreath and they would probably like the cover done too. And the beagle got the wrong food from the vet and is having an itch-tastic morning and one of the cats had a lengthy hork-fest in the small hours of the night that rendered sleep problematic as there is nothing like a “URRRKA-URRRKA-URK-URK-URK-URK-hwaaaaagghgh!” repeated at two minute intervals to bring one to the cold light of consciousness.

And I am grumpy. I realize that into every life a little rain must fall, but generally one prefers rain from the sky and not grey water from the porch. Sigh.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.

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If he sees the state of the bathroom and hangs down his head and cries, just run. No good will come of it.

I will keep that in mind!

(I'm sure he is sick of the comparison. I will not bring it up.)

That should be posted in the Folksongs Are Your Friends thread over on Making Light.

I once told my mother-in-law that if Wolfie and I ever had a son, I wanted to name him Tom Sawyer Dooley. The kid would never get a moment's peace. (My maiden name is Sawyer.)

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