…for being absent. You invite people into your “home” and then you expect them to wander around with empty plates and wine glasses.
I haven’t responded to any of your wonderful comments. Nor have I answered any email. I have a rule that I can’t quit work until I have my email down to 10. It’s now at 257 incoming messages. Lord love a duck.
I am currently suffering from bubonic plague. Okay, maybe that’s not it, but it certainly feels like something where the wagon will show up any moment and the bells peal: “Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!”
Don’t ask me where I contracted this stuff, but let it suffice to say that it’s a whole body (and I mean a WHOLE BODY) kind of affliction.
On other – better – news: Stanley and I have been waging the War of the Bed and I’m winning. The little darling is a Shed Monster. There are all these little black hairs everywhere. Being on my bed is not a thing I wish for him to continue (and isn’t that the worst worded sentence in the world? I think I’ll leave it up as an example of how to sound like you’re from Dutch country.). I haven’t put him in his crate, but I have devised a “bedroom” for him by putting a baby gate in the bathroom doorway, putting a fluffy dog bed in there and being ready for the whine fest. I’ve felt so awful that it really didn’t register. Last night he jumped the gate. I was not amused. I put him back behind the gate and he settled down, stopped whining, and went to sleep. He’s no longer allowed on my bed at any time, but he’s a smart little thing. He’ll get the message sooner or later. Meanwhile, I am gloriously sleeping alone.
Oh, more good news: I finished the book!
I will surface from the plague soon and be back to being a hospitable hostess. (Diet cokes for everyone!)