Or, as those who love Asterix the Gaul might know them, ancient gaulish swearwords.
All our best-laid plans went agley today when, halfway through my allotted words for my novel-in-progress, I got the phone call that every parental dreads: "Your little darling is sick, come scoop them up."
It didn't matter that I was in the middle of my work [like, literally in the middle of a word], Beloved was deep into some way more important coding, so I had to do the fetch.
Chaos is still horking up blobby things, and she has a fever, so she's staying home. Mayhem is allegedly ill, but not feverish, so he goes to school.
I must put my had up to a wee spot of nausea, myself. But that probably has more to do with my near-constant diet of egg-drop noodle bowls and the venerability of my bacon bit supply. What can I say? I'm addicted to horrible, horrible food.
If there was an easy way to get a salad that didn't have lurking capsicum (that's "bell peppers" for all you Americans), or spinach, or capers, or firkin chilli flakes.... Or, for that matter, cost its weight in gold... I would probably be eating a lot better.
Seriously, the cheapest, decent salad I can get ready-made is $8 - if I want it fresh. I can get noodle bowls for less than $1 each and eggs and bacon bits are a fraction of that.
On one hand, it's probably a good thing that I can live off cheap tatt. But on the other, it's definitely a bad idea to do that for all foreseeable time.
I really need someone to look after me. Not gonna happen any time soon though.
AND to top it all off, the editor is doing it's stupid tag trick again. Swear swear curse curse...