in the Land of Færie today. Sundays are normally dead slow, ’cos that’s how Sundays are, but today we had a couple come in looking for wedding rings, and the guy landed on one that the baleboosteh had particularly been wanting to sell—a special-order ring that had been measured wrong, so she’d had to eat it. This guy saw it and decided that was the ring for him and no other, and since it was the right size he paid for it on the spot, turning a dead slow day into quite a respectable one.
In other news I replaced fourteen light bulbs (twelve halogens and two eight-foot fluorescent tubes), sorted through our stack of eight-foot tubes and separated the good ones from the dead, boxed the good ones and chunked the others, getting a collar full of glass when one of them exploded going into the dumpster, vacuumed up a graveyard-ful of dead inchworms and a Frankenstein’s castle of cobwebs, entered a dozen names onto the mailing lists, made new mailing-list slips (we have periodic drawings for gift certificates as an enticement to join), addressed a fistful of wedding-lead postcards, updated several drivers and patches on both computers, washed the dishes and scrubbed the toilet.
And that was Sunday in the Land of Færie.
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