Whilst you are off cavorting in the British Isles, I have received your email messages implying that I have not written you. Indeed, this could not be further from the truth. My neatly manicured hands have typed several long-winded descriptions of our daily life here at home. I suspect that the Goddess of the Internet (or possibly Al Gore himself) is conspiring against us to keep us from communicating during your hiatus. That, or you have inadvertently blocked my email address to your hotmail account... and surely I will correct this matter if this is indeed the case as I do believe that I know all of your passwords and if all else fails, I will simply log into your very own hotmail and write you a letter from yourself. So there. Watch for that.
In the meantime, for Blog and everyone to read, let me fill you in quickly on the goings on here. Today I had my annual eye exam at the City Hospital, my pupils were dilated with those crazy drops rendering me a Wilma Flintstone lookalike for the better part of the day. Veto took the day off work to chauffeur me between eye appointments, also with an eye to chauffeuring Loopy to and fro school but she awoke "peaked" and was proclaimed by Veto to be unable to attend school at any rate since she was "warm-ish" and so she spent the better part of the day in bed... listening to music, reading, doing Kumon and generally lazing about drinking the Starbucks, ginger ales and bottled Evians that Veto brought for her. Being as blind as a bat and incredibly light sensitive, I lay in my darkened room for the afternoon. Duke spent the day at doggie daycare, giving all of us a respite from his manic depression of late. He is either bouncing off the walls or weeping melancholy for the absence of The Secret Weapon. We took him to your house on Saturday afternoon to visit Uncle Bug and Duke seemed to pine at the office door... until The Bug produced a fancy nylon chew toy and then, well, whatever. Grandpa who?
I invited The Bug over this evening to watch Heroes with us and indulge in a big 'ol mess of chicken wings that I cooked up when my eyesight returned in the late afternoon. He declined as his work for the CTV is due tomorrow. I also made two pear pies... one for now and I froze one for Thanksgiving... when was the last time you did that? If you weren't so busy globetrotting, you could be here with us right now listening to Buddy Budderson practice the drums. Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't that be enjoyable? Perhaps you would enjoy being at home so The Secret Weapon could be parked squarely on his lounger in front of Keith Olbermann (my secret boyfriend) with arms outstretched crying, "why, why... oh the inhumanity of it all", but be pleased, Dear Mother, that you have him off of the continent when Joe Biden meets Sarah Palin at Thursday night's debate. It also pains me to inform you that with my newly cut bangs I set off for my appointments today with my hair pulled partly back only to be informed by the nice lady at the reading glasses store that "I would look exactly like Sarah Palin" in those frames... and in spite of my horror I managed to slap her. I am growing my bangs out immediately and am eschewing the spectacles indefinitely.
That will close my open letter to you until such time as I can hack into your personal account and send further instruction. You may continue shopping for me now.
Your loving daughter,
PS. Whatever you do, don't call me tomorrow evening between the hours of 8:00 - 9:00 CST. The Tudors will be on. I'll talk to you later.