Here is the beginning of the next entry in order to Fool the app into thinking that it is in control. I think. The spell check already thinks it knows more about what I am trying to write than I do. Worse, sometimes it does.
At least this much opened, leading me to a playful composure regarding a limerick of sorts.
You know the old lady from Munsch,
Who always ate capers for lunch?
Her friends were so tickled
Each one got quite pickled
While drinking a stiff jug of punch!
Hmm! That leads me to the stink bug invasion. The other night about a month or so ago I was sitting in my mechanical chair reading the paper when something started buzzing around me. I swatted at it but missed. The next thing I knew it was sitting on my newspaper looking very much like a stink bug. I looked him or her up on Google and discovered that it was indeed a stink bug. I have a pair of shoes that got wet one snowy winter and didn't dry right. Thus they smell something like a crushed stink bug too, I imagine. At least they stink, which is unfortunate as I have poured enough Odor-Eaters foot powder into them to sweeten toad hollow. And still they stink.
Two nights ago I found another stink bug resting on the kitchen window sill. That was the third one. Actually, I caught the first one and put it outside alive and well. Half an hour later I went back to the bathroom and discovered it or another one walking down the wall. I turned off the bathroom light and went to bed. The interesting thing about my stink bug was the pattern on its back. The pattern was beautiful and looked something like an oriental carpet in greens and browns. The pictures of stink bugs I found on the internet were not nearly as interesting or as lovely. In fact those on the internet looked rather clunky.
Well, in the meantime I have had my gall bladder removed. It had a stone inside that looked about as large as a minor asteroid, and it hurt about the way you might think an asteroid in your gall bladder would hurt. Still, I am back to walking with the little dog, though it is difficult to stoop down and pick up his leavings. Actually it had gotten difficult even before the surgery and once I went head first into someone's shrubbery. Life does not seem to be getting any easier. At least I do not have any more organs that one can safely remove, as far as I know. If in Heaven our scars disseminate glory, I will glow like a minor sun. Of course that is the thing about being an only child; one always starts as a minor son, and sometimes one never gets over it. Ah well.