Desperate Housewife

I think I have pneumonia. But here's the thing: a couple of friends are dropping by tonight, something that almost never happens what with jobs, kids, husbands, pets, in-laws, plumbing/painting/cleaning (oh, kidding about the cleaning. I slay me). If I take the antibiotics I so clearly require, I cannot have the drink or seven that I've been promising myself ever since this plan was hatched two evenings ago. How's that for a suburban dilemma? Death or gin. Death or gin. Let's see. . . . Hmmmm. . . . .

Ah, well: Some things in this world are undoubtedly stronger than the siren call of gin -- the call of the wild, the leaping of milk into the the breast when a child cries, the automatic eating of one more honey-roasted almond--but serious lung ailments appear not to be one of them.



SPLOOSH!