Got home last night, ready to collapse, and found our landlord in our closet, drilling a hole for the wire that will connect something to the something else that will activate the yet another thing and we will finally have heat again. Oh, blessed heat.
Seeing as how my options were A) stick around and listen to at least twenty minutes of man with power tools, or B) go grocery shopping, the husband came up with an option C) drop me off at Barnes and Noble, do the shopping, and then bring me home. We'll take option C, and gladly. I am that easily bribed. Book tramp and proud of it.
Especially since they had the new RT Bookclub, which they usually get much later than the release date. So, I grab it, page through it, and somewhere in all the suspense and chick lit and erotica, I'm sure there's some romance somewhere. Maybe it's this particular issue or that I was particularly crabby, but oy. I did get to pick up Kate Rothwell's latest and Jim and Nikkoo McGoldrick (who write as May McGoldrick) will be our speakers at the meeting tomorrow, so I should be in a better mood then. Though landlord had the wrong drill bit and will need to drill a different hole today. Hopefully while I am not there.
Just checked the Adirondack site, and made the mistake of looking at some of the other gorgeous rainbow pads. How did I miss getting "Winter Sky" and "Mountain Lake" again? Which names also strike me as perfectly acceptable things to name children in a couple of places I've lived.