The things we think about. Or of.
Apr. 27th, 2014 10:44 amSo as I was shaving m'scalp this morning in the shower (to the smooth and Hugo-winning latherings of Tony and Sea Drift Soaps - the closest, sweetest shave I may ever have had, I tell you what, and it comes with SF podcasts too) it occurred to me to wonder, for one must after all wonder something: is there actually any documented case of a person waking up on the autopsy table?
And the answer, apparently, is yes. If one is to believe what one reads on the internet.
In other news, last night was a lot of fun, thanks. And the cake I think was excellent. 'Specially with a sploosh of Cointreau Noir. Now I should probably do something about the kitchen. How is it that I ran a full dishwasher load last night, and yet nevertheless there are dirty pots and plates covering every surface? How is that even possible? I had to move the remains of the duck from the microwave to the oven*, so that Karen could make her breakfast; there was simply nowhere else to put them.
*Cat-safe spaces, you understand. And yes, of course the fridge would be better, but there's no room in the fridge. And the duck won't last past tonight, so it won't have time to be troublesome.
And the answer, apparently, is yes. If one is to believe what one reads on the internet.
In other news, last night was a lot of fun, thanks. And the cake I think was excellent. 'Specially with a sploosh of Cointreau Noir. Now I should probably do something about the kitchen. How is it that I ran a full dishwasher load last night, and yet nevertheless there are dirty pots and plates covering every surface? How is that even possible? I had to move the remains of the duck from the microwave to the oven*, so that Karen could make her breakfast; there was simply nowhere else to put them.
*Cat-safe spaces, you understand. And yes, of course the fridge would be better, but there's no room in the fridge. And the duck won't last past tonight, so it won't have time to be troublesome.