At last we are are feeling pretty normal over here at 1642 Cowling. No one has thrown up in nearly 72 hours, everyone is peeing OK, I’m feeling bullish.
I also have three new theories as to the cause of our recent domestic distress. Theory 1 covers Tristan: As a Whitworth male (when we flew from SF to Louisville, Tristan was added to Matt’s ticket, thus making him an official Whitworth), it was his destiny to suffer stones. Don’t you think it suspicious that Percival, my Goldstein cat, is OK?
Theory 2 covers Simon: See picture at right. Don’t you think it suspicious he threw up the very next day?
And theory 3 covers me: Twenty-four hours before falling ill, I recklessly bragged to my mother that I had not been ill in nearly two years. She yelled “Don’t give it a getoich! Don’t give it a g’toich!” which is misspelled Yiddish for “Don’t tempt fate and curse yourself!” I normally discount such superstition, but don’t you think it suspicious I immediately got sick?
Whatever the causes of our misfortune, today we were all feeling much better. Even our piano is feeling better, as I finally realized it was not “broken” or “suffering a short” but just needed new batteries. Yes, I am a genius. Once we got it fixed up, Simon enjoyed listening to tunes and rocking out, getting especially enthused when “Mary Had a Little Lamb” played. If I squinted, I could just about imagine him dancing at a prom in 17 years.