I am writing this after drinking a couple of glasses of wine. Some of you may find this shocking, but I assure you that, contrary to rumor, I do have an esophagus. I just mention the wine in case I do something shocking like forget a serial comma, for then I will have a scapegoat.

In the news:

As I mentioned two days ago, I am having part of my house painted. The part I am having painted is called the first floor, for which I paid a certain amount of money that we will call x. When my painter discovered that I had the expectation that certain things on the first floor (such as the entire dining room, the trim, the ceilings, and the doors) would be included in the job, he decided to charge me x + $800.00.

Kids, when they tell you that algebra prepares you for the real world, they aren’t kidding.

Anyway, he came over last night while we were having dinner to do some painting. He painted exactly one wall. That alone could explain the extra money, I suppose: when jobs take longer, they naturally cost much, much more. I know that now. I am a person of the world. So anyway, he painted one wall, and it was so totally not the color I was expecting. It is still a nice color; Rob pretended to like it. But it is not the color I was expecting. But, thanks to the wine, it is growing on me. If I ever decide to sell this house, I will meet all prospective buyers at the door with a bottle of chardonnay. Wine is powerful. Wine is wine.

In other news, I am so totally going to [redacted].