They cleared off this little corner of the kitchen, then put the cross stitch done by or for Beloved's late, first wife front and more or less center. My life: closed captioned for the housekeeping impaired.
The following was read to me by Fourthborn. Transcribed by me. I am just sufficiently wiped out that I laughed uncontrollably. Source: incurablenecromantic on Tumblr.
"Being a florist is essentially a lot like what I imagine being a mortician is about. You're basically keeping dead things looking good for as long as possible. You keep the product in the fridge so it doesn't rot and look horrible by the time the family gets a whack at it, and in the meantime you put it in a nice container."
Taking my sorry, not sorry self to bed now.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!