(no subject)
Potter's done it again: stuffed me to the point of complete and total inertia. This time, it involved steak, shrimp, salsa and melted cheese rolled up in warm tortillas. For a meal lacking in bacon, he did rather well. I don't know why Potter hasn't cottoned on to the fact that when he does this, I become entirely useless, and therefore he is forced to pick up the slack. I'm certainly not about to tell him. The kids made a wreckage of themselves, naturally, and the elves will have their work cut out for them when laundry time rolls around. Sequins, on the other hand, do not appear to absorb moist food items.
Besides, inertia generally results in rest and relaxation (whether I like it or not), which works out well, as Monday happens to be a very big day. It is my godfather's birthday, as well as a full moon. I suppose I will leave Potter to mind Liam for the evening instead of dragging him along for an awkward birthday supper peppered with colorful insults and more glaring and sneering than you could shake a wand at. I reckon the bratlings may join me, as Mother will be in attendance, and Mrs. Weasley has been ill. I don't want to impose on any members of the general working class, or I'd harass Anderson or Granger into minding them for the night.
Mrs. Weasley is the reason we've been loitering at Widdleton for most of the day, coincidentally, since Potter has volunteered his culinary services in her place. It isn't easy to take care of business and actually accomplish much of anything when Potter feels the need to barge in and strut around my office while I'm attempting to finish the payroll. He's obviously angling for the opportunity to bend me over the desk and have his way with me, but this isn't my desk at home, and there are entirely too many innocents likely to stroll in at any given moment (or, better still, the bloody Emersons). I suppose this will be one of those nights where I'll need to bring home a few stacks of parchment to pose with briefly so he can get this out of his system.
Besides, inertia generally results in rest and relaxation (whether I like it or not), which works out well, as Monday happens to be a very big day. It is my godfather's birthday, as well as a full moon. I suppose I will leave Potter to mind Liam for the evening instead of dragging him along for an awkward birthday supper peppered with colorful insults and more glaring and sneering than you could shake a wand at. I reckon the bratlings may join me, as Mother will be in attendance, and Mrs. Weasley has been ill. I don't want to impose on any members of the general working class, or I'd harass Anderson or Granger into minding them for the night.
Mrs. Weasley is the reason we've been loitering at Widdleton for most of the day, coincidentally, since Potter has volunteered his culinary services in her place. It isn't easy to take care of business and actually accomplish much of anything when Potter feels the need to barge in and strut around my office while I'm attempting to finish the payroll. He's obviously angling for the opportunity to bend me over the desk and have his way with me, but this isn't my desk at home, and there are entirely too many innocents likely to stroll in at any given moment (or, better still, the bloody Emersons). I suppose this will be one of those nights where I'll need to bring home a few stacks of parchment to pose with briefly so he can get this out of his system.