It’s feeling like spring — birds chirping outside my window, temperatures approaching 50 degrees, Major League Baseball activities just getting under way, my gluteus maximus sore from getting paneled by the Goon (wait! this dim-witted computer won’t let me delete that last one! disregard!). Is there love in the air? And is it stinky? Reply, a la Stimpy: Just how you like it. You know, kids, when I’m feeling as chirpy as the happy wren outside my window, I like to stuff a piece of Marmite-infused rye toast down my gullet and rub my belly. Try it! Yes, we’re feeling good today. Don’t ask me why, because I won’t tell you, unless you give me a quarter. Quarter for my thoughts is the going rate. Too rich for your blood, you cheap, inquisitive bastards.

I forgot to pick up my laundry this morning on my way to the coffee place, which means an unnecessary second trip in that direction. At least my pedometer will rack up some footfalls.