As I stare vacuously in the dimmed but steady glow of Benkei, it occurs to me that fairness has no place in being sick. You want the fairness, instinctively, but really, it wasn’t invited to the dinner party.
Ha, there I go, anthromorphizing fairness. Fairness with a capital F, no less, perhaps.
Is it a dinner party when it’s just you with a Lean Cuisine in your lap, and the implements are all plastic and styrofoam? And your dinner guests are a Matisse and a Picasso, and their idea of scintillating conversation is to stare at you rentlessly? And the entertainment is the Kiefer, digitalized on a 13 inch screen?
Don’t answer that.
Gramma came over today to hover over the sickie, which was greatly appreciated, if so impromptu that it was a fortunate thing that Picasso woke me up and I blearily albeit admittedly automatically checked Benkei for email.
No chicken soup, but the refrigerator and freezer are filled to absolute bursting, which is of course grammaese for “stocked with barely adequate levels of food”.
I’ve got some peanut butter ice cream with reese’s cups in it. Anybody wanna come on over for some? We don’t have to share spoons.
