But still, at some point (Wednesday) I relinquished my borrowed wireless adapter to its rightful owner (my stepdaughter), and only bought my own adapter Sunday, and bulled my husband for the router key tonight. In internet years, that's a long time!
Dear new wireless adapter: I shall use you for. Well. Not good, precisely.
In other news, something crawled into a small space somewhere in our utility room and died. I made three fruitless forays into the stench to search for the dead thing, wearing plastic grocery bags as gloves, a bandana over my nose and mouth, and a smear of toothpaste on my upper lip. I brandished a can of Febreeze in one hand, as well, which ended up just making a death-and-peaches sort of smell in the end, to which I think perhaps Just Death might have been preferable.
MAYbe. It's hard to say. I normally hate the chemically scents of that sort of thing (I have learned, since buying the can four years ago). It is hard to say which scent was worth. The chemicals killed a lot of the death smell, but not enough.
I would like to understand why some odors linger in the nose, such that everything smells like a recurrence of that later. My cat's paws. My husband's breath after fish and chips. Seriously--it must be psychosomatic, mustn't it?
I have nothing handy or interesting to say about Inception, other than to marvel at how many people I have talked to decided that there was a definitive black and white ending to the movie, when I rather thought it was left to Viewer's Choice, a little like Rhett walking into the fog at the end of Gone with the Wind.
Also, it was fun to see it with two fifteen-year-old girls half in love with Leonardo diCaprio from having watched Romeo + Juliet this year in English class. "You know he's my age, right?" I asked. "Also when I was your age, he was on a sitcom and he was annoying."
Indifferent shrugs to this, squees of excitement when he showed up on the screen. Such things matter to children, not to serious fans.