The AOSH (besides the quizzes, which will MARCH ON, dammit, see you Friday for sure) has been the product of perhaps our impending relocation to the faux-haute precincts of Windsor Terrace, with the concomittant necessity of putting our lives into boxes, plus all the legal foofaraw which must of course precede the material relocation of ourselves from hither to yon, plus we're trying to see if we can get the new place painted (and have you ever tried to agree with another complex and thoughtful individual on the question of is "Texas Sage" really just, you know, battleship grey trying to get over?), and now one-half the household is on bed rest due to the next generation of quizmeisters trying to jump the line vis-a-vis their (all right her) due date, causing a certain amount of inconvenience not to say worry (though currently all quiet on that front, not to alarm), which means that much as we hate to admit it --oh, how this admittance pains us very deeply -- we really now have better things to do than to remedy the AOSH.

(You ask, was the D.F. Wallace parody-style above what was intended from the start? Look into our guileless hearts with trust as we tell you nah, it just sorta came out that way.)

Feel free to use the comments as a place to hang out and smoke. See you Friday.