It’s awfully quiet around here. There’s always either hustle or sometimes bustle in this house and not infrequently a mixture of the two. But Faith is at work late tonight, the birds are uncharacteristically calm, Sly is amusing herself with personal hygiene… Oh, and NW, the Reverend Mother and Tiger Lilly have flown the coup, gotten out of Dodge, rendered themselves scarce.
It’s times like these that try men’s souls, suggest mischief, feel real peaceful.
Ahhh, I hear the pitter patter of wife feet. G’day!
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Ben, home alone with a rat; has all the makings of a horror movie. It would just need a good title song. Maybe they could get Michael Jackson to sing it; although I heard a rumor that he’s dead. There doesn’t appear to be any news coverage that I’m aware of.
you two, home alone, without adult supervision…
i hope NW doesnt come home to find holes in the wall where the lamps struck.
watch out ben. those flying skillets can also pack a hurt of their own.
No problem on the skillet front; we’re stepping out for breakfast this morning. As for the rest of it, I’m following the Reverend Mother’s typed instructions. I watered the rat, fed the flowers and dead-headed the birds.
We´re in trouble now. The inmates have taken over the asylum.