We Interrupt

our regularly scheduled radio silence to tell you: I feel really, really nauseous. Still. Of course. I will genteely omit all details, but suffice it to say: I fed my poor spouse a very distressing brown bean soup, with tomatoes apparently still floating on top, last night, because I could not bear to go into the kitchen to stir it.

Fortunately, he understands that the natural outcome of "Complaints Filed With Pregnant Management" is "Fury, Wrath, and No More Dinner."