The Coughing Duo were at it again. Raging Cabin Fever, those two, and going back to school tomorrow lungs or not amen getting a bit fractious.
I was staring down at my cup of coffee and wondering how it was possible to not be able to taste it (and really, what a shame when someone else made the coffee for me; shouldn't it always be possible to appreciate coffee made by other hands than your own??) when B made his announcement of his Plans For The Day.
"And then", he said, "It's time to get my pig axe out!"
Fueled on a combination of Buckley's Cough Syrup, Tylenol, and insomnia, I drew myself up from the couch and screeched 'Oh hell no you're not! What kind of a backwoods abattoir am I living in? You will not be killing pigs anywhere near this house*!'
B understands that cough syrup gives me the stupids. So he ignored my righteous frothings and carryings on, instead showing me a long smooth bat of white ash.
"My pick-axe, Jess. It needs a new handle."
'Oh', I said, meekly. 'I think I need a nap.'
*It should be pointed out here that Bear has never slaughtered a pig. We don't own any pigs. We have no pigs as neighbors. I have no idea what the hell I was thinking.