I just got out of a Friday morning court appearance, close to three hours from here in good weather, that would have eaten tomorrow night alive and kept me away from hearth and home all day Friday, when Eleanor has her next followup appointment. That afternoon will still be a wipeout for me, but it'll only take me as far as Rochester, and not until after she's done with the docs.
Incidentally, we've both noticed that, when we describe last Friday night's accident to people, many are overcome with what can only be described as a ::koff:: burning desire to tell us, in similar detail, That Same Thing Wot Happened To Them. Based on these stories, I have resolved never ever to touch the following items again:
* a stove, particularly a glass-topped one;
* a tea kettle;
* a Pop Tart (not much of a problem with that;)
* [insert your skin-crawling story here]
Also, if the burned body part begins with a "t," I don't want to hear ANYTHING about it. No, it was not a story about a tibia.