Let's see if I can ignore this headache long enough to write something meaningful. I'm chalking it up to not eating until a few minutes ago.
Our picnic was a fun time. We dined at the roadside park in scenic Bloomsdale, eating big sandwiches and fruit cups while drinking bottled water. Afterwords, we went for a country drive, taking Y all the way out to 67. It was a good time. But why is there a tiger sanctuary on Y halfway between Bloomsdale and Lawrenceton? Missouri doesn't seem like an appropriate place to house tigers.
I finished the last Matthew Scudder book this morning, or the last one until Lawrence Block puts out another. I enjoyed it so much I friended Mr. Block on Facebook and sent him a message, something I don't think I've ever done. Now I'm going to read a Wodehouse and try to forget about serial killers for a while.
Belle stashed that damn hoof under my pillow last night to keep me or Carrie from getting it. She's an odd dog sometimes.