Adrienne got irritable and punky Sunday, when we drove to Ashland, Oregon, the home of the annual Shakespeare Festival, about an hour north of here. There’s a pretty University there, and a quainte downtowne with precious shoppes, where after a long wait we got a mediocre breakfast at high prices. However, the service was only so-so.
When we got home, she retired early, and Monday was mongo ill. Suspecting the worst, I went shopping. We got the TheraFlu, the Advil Day and Night, the Alka-Seltzer Deeply-Serious Cold tablits, and the ever-handy coca-cola and saltine crackers. A good thing, too.
In the early evening, I fell out too, and slept through the night, all the next day, and the next night. On the mend now, ate rice and a kipper, and seeing as how I was feeling more chipper, asked dear Adrienne did she want a kipper.
She groaned, “No kipper. No skipper. No dipper.”
See, incomprehensible! She’s feeling better!
