Well, the good news is that my ribs are probably not broken. I felt much better by the end of the day, and when I cough my little cough I’m not worried that I’m puncturing something. Paranoia serves me well. The bad news is that I did not do 11 pushups on Wednesday, and it is unlikely that I will do 12 on Thursday, so my goal of being an Olympian is right down the toilet.
What was I going to talk about? Oh, eating all the food. As Lloyd has been whittling his way through our basement, he took over one of our food pantry shelves and reallocated it for book storage. I’d get mad, but most of the food down there – and in the cupboards and in the freezer – is practically inedible anyway. I decided that we would spend the next few weeks trying to eat up all the weird stuff in the cupboards. It has made for a couple of interesting meals, but not nearly the number that I was hoping for. It’s about time for me to make a hard-mini-marshmallow and bean casserole, seasoned with packets of three-year-old Jello powder. Mmmmmmmmmm