We’re Running Low On Asses’ Milk

Thank you for your kind enquiries, ladies; yes, I am all de-festered of my livestock. I must be, I’ve had more showers and baths than Cleopatra. I have not, however, stopped itching, but I think it’s all in my mind. Am heading off to posh shopping centre now, so if there’s anything left crawling, no doubt it will choose to re-appear there.

I have cracking news to report on the Sleep Offensive; after the first night’s meltdown, Harry has been a little sleeping saint. Saints do get up at 5.30am, yes? But never mind, barely a whimper out of him the second night’s bedtime, and he’s slept straight through til dawn both times. He also appears to be sleeping much more soundly, given that Hubby and I managed a snarled, hissing grumpy exchange over the top of his cot last night regarding location of some (any!?) clean bedlinen. So I have, of course, happily postponed Harry’s room move, on the basis that the situation no longer seems to be a problem for anyone.

Whilst all continues nicely in the Hairy Farmer household, other households are not having it so good. May and Antigone appear to be having a rough old time, in fact. Both deserving of A) much NaComLeavMo love and B) a fucking break.

NB – I was obliged to Google the correct plural of Ass, and Oh! what a lot of bottoms I had to fight my way past. There seemed to be no consensus, so if you’re an authority on these things, do feel free to put me straight.

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