The weatherman didn't say a word about a front coming through today, so when I first tumbled out of bed this morning, my first thought was, "Why does my head hurt so?"
That was before I remembered all the wine.
There was a small gathering of friends at my house last night. About twice a year, we like to schlep our musical instruments and bad judgement to someone's house, nom down some chips and dip, and play through our oh-my-God-I-forgot-all-about-that-song repertoire. It's great fun, provided you aren't the author of the words and/or music of the tunes we're mangling.
But that was last night. Today, I have to make some money. On the to-do list, working on some of the introductory copy for my company's great new Christmas book, which is scheduled to go to press in February.
So, next year--when you get your copy of the new Christmas book--as you're admiring the soul-stirring pictures and reading the heart-warming opening pages, you'll know that the author of some of that beautifully-written copy penned it while all hanged over, cotton-mouthed, and miserable.
Ho, ho, ho, y'all.
photo, Rodolfo Clix
Thanks John and Holly Ruth, Ian and Talley, Paulette and Fred, Deborah and David, Hannah and FJohn!