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My boy is ill. He woke me up at 4 a.m., poor baby, and he's been sick at regular intervals ever since. At the moment, he's curled up on the bed trying to get some sleep, and I'm hoping he'll get some. Cat sick is a bitch to get out of carpets, and why won't cats throw up anywhere else, on the nice bit of lino in the kitchen, e.g.?

The first Christmas card came in the post today, making me smile...because it came from an LJ friend.

Yesterday, I spent three hours in the salon, only to walk out with a do very similar to the one I came in with. The only difference is that my fringe, forelocks and sideburns are now a disconcertingly bright red. Next time, I'll tell them to cut me a bob and be done with it.

Comments

gamiila
Nov. 26th, 2006 05:27 pm (UTC)
Me, too. I always feel terribly guilty if I can't work out what's wrong from what little clues they care to give me.