Cold coffee, hot tamale

Clean laundry hangs from every hook, niche and doorknob in the joint. Paulie’s flight for Scotland leaves tomorrow, dinnertime. For Heaven’s sake, it’s time to buy enough Ricky Ricardo shirts to last longer than a week. Sometimes it looks like a black velvet painting exploded in our living room.

Right now, the sky could open again at any moment, so he’s outside bolting his carburator to the engine. I think. I’m sorry to say I don’t know a blessed thing about cars. For all I know, you bolt carburators to cup holders so your soda stays bubbly. This is not a knowledge deficit one ought to crow from the treetops. Instead, I think I should issue guarded apologies to automotive engineers throughout the ages. It’s on my To Do list.

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