I have resisted, for several days now, the urge to sit down and write an entry about my renewed love affair with prunes. Because I feared that a passion for prunes would mean I'm just around the corner from early-onset senility, and before you know it, I've got 64 oz. jars of cold cream and the complete DVD set of Mama's Family. And soon I'll be waving my graham crackers and scowling at my neighbors who leave their mailbox flap open and my tinfoil hat tells me that's how all the aliens get into our city milk supply.
Unrelated:
