If Elvis needs a place to hide out, our fridge is the ideal place. I used to tell people that I had a price, but nobody thought I knew anything worth paying for. Therefore, no one would even consider that we are hiding dear old Elvis. (Did I ever tell you that one of my best friends had a monkey named Elvis? He hated me. Her husband assured me that they left Elvis to me in his will. I would vastly have preferred their vast collection of automatic weapons, but instead, they willed me Elvis. Since they did not kick off, they had to donate Elvis to a zoo where he was promptly declared persona non grata. I dodged the bullet on that one.)
Would Elvis be displeased if he had to share the fridge with multiple Peterson’s Field Guides? I need quick access to those.
Anyway, sweet dreams!
I am rather appreciating the tone of the recent posts.
Sweet Dreams Silent.