This has nothing to do with that: Happy birthday to
thymeth!
In your honor, I've ceremonially straightened my pile of junk mail. Not thrown it away, just tidied it up.
Habitual begins now: I did the same thing yesterday before the landlord came in to do his winter maintenance. I haven't decided yet why I can't throw it away, but it's the neatest pile of trash in all the land. Maybe it's destined to be package packing? Who doesn't like getting someone else's old shoe shop ads shredded up and packed around some sort of Christmas sweetness?
Here's hoping it's another fruitcakeless holiday season. My mother always threatens, but I haven't opened my mailbox to a brick of candy fruited sorrow yet. My sister likes it. I suppose that's why she'll inherit the estate.
I'm going to have "chik'n" and round potato things for supper. May all of your evenings be as interesting.