And I just want to know: boning. What the hell is up with boning? Who on earth says, "You know, underwires, while supportive and all, really don't poke into my tender flesh enough. What I would really like is two or three more stripes of hard stabby thing per tit. Yes indeedy. That's what I need." Tell me: who? WHY?
And why can I apparently have pretty bras or washable bras but not both? News flash: pretty things do not stay pretty if they are filthy, or chewed to bits in the washer, or languishing under the rest of Melvin The Laundry Monster because do I have time to hand wash five or six bras right now? I do not. (I've wasted time looking unsuccessfully. But buying, no.)
And another thing: who thought it was such a good idea to set a book in Finland where aall of my tyypos would look reaasonaable compaared to the naames I was uusing? Can I blame you for this one?
And another thing: I think there ought to be a magic power whereby one's loved ones don't hurt if one just loves hard enough.
But: I get to work on my book, and my book is letting me, and that's something, at least. I would gladly give it up for concentrating hard on loving some people if it would make them stop hurting. But in the meantime, writing and fussing are the order of the day. And grumping. Grump! Grump grump! And putting calomine lotion on markgritter's mosquito bites.