Well, so much for Cross Plains.I was greeted this morning with what was for him a nearly frantic phone call from Paul Mears: the love of his life was hit with a humdinger of a migraine, probably stirred up by the truly heroic amounts of pollen and fungus thrown up into the atmosphere by our recent rains. Having myself been slammed in the skull with Thor’s hammer myself in years past, only an idiot or a Cat Piss Man (but perhaps I repeat myself) would complain about having to cancel out on our trip to Cross Plains.
Well, there’s always next year. Like his old friend H.P. Lovecraft, I don’t think Bob Howard will be too offended if I have to skip out on his party again this year.
There’s always next year, good sir.