"Death, where is thy sting?"

A day spent at home with Germs and quietly muttering obscenities under my breath about houseguests who generously share their lurgies with me and then bugger off.

Of course, once aforesaid houseguests had duly vanished over the horizon, the muttered obscenities increased by quite a few decibels.

Still, Claire and Wally baked me some sourdough before callously abandoning me to my own devices. For fresh bread, I'd forgive them anything.