The dentist was not wearing tracksuit on Thursday, which is probably the best thing that's happened so far this week.
So, tell me a story. Something has to be happening to one or the other of you that I should know about.
Last night outside of a dry cleaners there was an old press, which I would have loved to take home and make into furniture somehow. It was a great big ironing board with a heavy lid, and I think it would be very satisfying to be a dry cleaner and use such a thing. Matt chatted with the dry cleaner through the window, and it turned out that he had gotten his hand caught in it only once, and I imagine that was time enough.
At some point this weekend, I simply must clean my apartment.