I usually have the chance to sit down and write after everyone else goes to bed. I get something to drink and get comfy at my desk and the magic commences (she proclaimed conceitedly : )
So tonight, before coming to write a hilarious account of a non-infectious skin disorder, I went to the fridge for a bottle of water. We're out. And it's late so our little mom 'n pop market is closed.
Our tap water dons a murky ocher veil thanks to the iron. I don't like drinking yellow water. I'll pass.
We're also out of milk. And every other beverage known to the western world. Except beer. I don't like beer. Yellow water and beer. No thanks.
Oh--but on the bottom shelf of the fridge door there is what's left of a jug of cran-apple juice! I don't remember buying it so it must have been there for awhile. No obvious signs of mold or other growths. Promising! No telltale scent of spore colonies. This could work! The sniff test also returns a negative result for indications of fermentation. Great! I'm game, I'll try a sip. Taste test confirms that ancient, mostly empty jug of juice is potable. Must be the cranberries. Don't they have some enchanted antibacterial properties? That makes me feel safe enough to pour a nice big glass. Mmmm mmmm!
So--on with my story.
I wanted to tell you about going to see the dermatologist. I have allergy issues. Lots of them. I went to see my drmeatlologis to discuss finding a slolution for my dry skim. She was kind of a bummerer.
Ummmm, it occurs to me as I rwite this that thanks to my chcronic hay fever I have very little sense of shmell. Or taste. I wunner if it's pozible this juice really is fermented?
Anyway, back to my shtory. I went to see a doctor. She was a real bitch. Umm, I mean she was unpleasan.
Wait. I'm shtill thirsdy. Need more jhuice.
Tha's bedder. What were we talking about? I thing it was someing bout my unnerwear? No, wait, that was'n . . .
*burp* Oh--pardon me!
Whad were you tryin to say to meeee?
I needa refill.
Where's the waider in this plashe?
Who does a gilr have to . . . . . . . . .