As I type this, it’s snowing, but we’ll probably just be left with slush and ice Sunday morning, and it won’t stay cold enough (they tell us) for it to stick around, thank God. However, as always happens every time there’s a temperature shift like this, I’ll probably be dealing with yet another cold (I usually spend most of January sucking on cough drops and orange juice. I’d usually be sipping on Zarbee’s cough and sore throat drink as well, but I have to conserve what I have left because apparently they don’t make it anymore.)
But as long as it’s not covid, I’ll be happy. With surgery coming up in a few weeks (and joy, I’ll be tested beforehand; I think I’m more nervous about that than the surgery), I don’t want to take any chances, which means I’ll be masked up anytime I’m in public, which won’t be much except for the week I have to train someone to fill in for me while I’m out.
You really would think we’d be out of the woods on this thing, but no. Sigh. And so we look to our favorite family parodists. (Apologies for the kinda-blue ending to the second one.)
Serenity is a fuzzy belly 