I hate peanut butter. Mercedes wrote in her blog that her llamas love it. I suspect that llamas are much like camels and cows, unselfconsciously capable of more saliva than I want to think about.
It’s hard not to be cranky when you come home to a broken door and find that the burglars had time and better taste than you would hope. Not just the TV, but Aunt Lucy’s china. It’s all only stuff, I know it’s only stuff. The policeman held out my box of tissues just as my running nose and streaming eyes were getting entirely embarrassing.