Will you look at this:
AND there’s a festive integrated game. If you’re bored (or merely insane), embark on a mind-blowing, ceaseless link fÍte (Link FÍte might be a good name for a band. Small Kitten and I could use it). Hit the link above, hit the link back to “…Kate du Fromage,” hit the link above, hit the link back to “…Kate du Fromage,” hit the link above, hit the link back to “…Kate du Fromage,”(ad nauseum, and somewhat like “back…and to the left, back…and to the left, back…and to the left, back…and to the left”).
Speaking of tuffets,* we were talking about tumors the other day (or, if you are anglophilically inclined, “tumours” – or, for that matter, if you’re orthographically inept, “toooomerz”), and someone (Dan?) said that there was a man who had such a large posterior growth that he could sit right down on it. Someone else remarked that it was rather like an attached, portable tuffet (Bronwen? Are you to blame??). How handy. Even as, put euphemistically, a “puffy” pear-shaped person, I cannot imagine such an instantly-gratifying seating luxury.
Anyhooooo (my favorite erudite transitional phrase), lauds and honors (or “honours” or “onnerzz”) and acclaim and praise and tribute and appreciation and gratitude and a gross of eyepatches (ANOTHER story for another time) to most lovely and trouser-worthy GRETTIR. You are a supreme BLOG GOD. [insert Plagal cadence here]
*It’s genetic. Bewildering alterations from subject to ostensibly disparate subject are my Maternal birthright. But that’s a story for another time. I do have a theory about it; I call it “tacit segues.”