Yes, while reading the first seven entries in my journal, i came upon the words "Cinnamon Toast Crunch" and suddenly experienced an urge to leap to my feet, bound across to the larder, snatchle a boxed cereal from the shelf, and snarfle it down with the soy milk because i think it may turn ugly soon.
Instead my flight was checked by a tea-cozy of contrasting knitted form, and an empty teacup at hand. Oh yes, and the pot full of amber liquid. So i drank some tepid tea instead. Sprigs of two varieties of mint went into it, one weedy, one not so weedy (speaking in terms of flavor, not growth habit; they're both weedy that way.)
Before the cup was half full, hindsight revealed the all-too-familiar pattern that had been about to manifest; i vastly prefer rice milk over soy, but the rice milk wasn't 'needing to be used'.
What goes on in a mind of a Punking {sic. typo. My Dad is the PunKing} Punkin Runner?
Well, on a hazy lazy Saturday when the world looks too hot for working, and i am being too old for playing, and my right arm is puffy with subcutaneous pus around a scab that may have been a spider bite and which may erupt in a fortnight or less as a volcano of necrotic flesh (can you hear the Vox of Experience here?)...
When, as i was saying, this is the case, something quite cheerful comes to me. Tea. So i'm here being playful with words for me and for you.
Maybe-- yes. I will go now and drench the remainder of that accidental bread-Pudding concoction i baked yesterday. With Rice milk. And eat.
Cheers,
PR
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For the record, that swelling went down rapidly, and i'm still sighing with relief ten days later.
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