And just to put you in the mood, a round-up of yesterday’s drama in aptly poetic form (hey, what can I say? this stuff is addictive):
Alas, my computer, it doth me befuddle
So I chatted up Poster Boy, asked of my trouble.
The trick he supplied: with a techie to huddle
And perhaps we could even conclude with a cuddle.
Now it happens that Best Friend, with techies made nice.
And who did she see there, waiting on ice?
Why old “friend” Ad Weasel, on phone all a-gush —
At his ghastly appearance would spring nought a crush.
So quoth me Best Friend, in brief gossip sublime
Don’t think I’ll be calling him up anytime.
Sad to learn one’s gone downhill, who once gave (some) thrill.
But of men like Ad Weasel, I’ve sure had my fill.
On to men with more class! That would be quite a gas.
Now if only right by me they would not just pass.
As I said to Poster Boy, I’m not their lass:
My mouth’s a wee salty and too full of sass, alas.
(Now for those who might wonder why I talk so strange,
A meeting with Grandpap I’ll hap'ly arrange.
You would learn from that fine chap why we talk in rhyme:
Such word play, to Broadways, is one grand old time.
Dear Grandpap, on birthdays, a poem would send.
And that’s why my rhymes to your ears their way wend
But should, in a protest, you your garments rend
I will bring at long last my sad poem to end.)