Seeks-Square-Crabs

I begin to think that swearing off Orren once a year, or once a term even, is not quite enough. I think I should swear off Orren once a week. That might suffice.

Seeks-Slithering-Songs Strenata and I had arranged a date for this afternoon: listening to some end-of-term recitals from the advanced music students; dinner at Ghu Navage Ghu; parting ways for the evening because it is end of term and we both have a great deal to do.

I waited outside the Hall of Crypts (the recital rooms are in the crypts, presumably for better quiet. These are not burial crypts; those are elsewhere.) for a good hour and then some, enough time for the sun's flame to wane appreciably. And then I flew back home.

And when I got there, Strenata had sent me a note -- she was going to spend the afternoon hunting for square-crabs with Oonspath.

It was quite an excited note. Square-crabs are only tasty for a few days a year, and she had missed the last year because she was studying the theory of differences, and she had missed the year before because she had broken five of her ribs.

A bit of further prying (inspired by how water-stained the leaf was) revealed that she had written the note from the riverbank, about halfway through my waiting. Presumably she remembered our date, but did not think that I might have been trying to meet her there, so sent the note to my home, far too late.

In any case, Dubaille was not the most sympathetic of listeners. When I expressed complaint about Strenata's neglect, he gave me a vast stinking torrent of abuse, vileness, adultery, oppobrium, torment, and occasional bits of neglect from Lady Quissenden.

I escaped from the flood; I flew out the window! (He had the window open in wintertime for some reason concerning the pile of burnt baked worms in the kitchen, I presume.)

And so I flew to Flooosh's bakery, for complains and poptaloops. She was sweet and sympathetic, and invited me to come to her family's village for the week between terms.

A whole village of Orren.

I am once again doomed.

Why You Should Not Date A ...

I should compile a full list of reasons never to date anyone. "Never date an Orren because they will never remember a date." "Never date a Sleeth because they will kill you." "Never date a Cani because they can tell what you are thinking." Unfortunately, it should be funny, and I can't think of a single funny thing just now. Any ideas?

Seeks-Square-Crabs

I begin to think that swearing off Orren once a year, or once a term even, is not quite enough. I think I should swear off Orren once a week. That might suffice.

Seeks-Slithering-Songs Strenata and I had arranged a date for this afternoon: listening to some end-of-term recitals from the advanced music students; dinner at Ghu Navage Ghu; parting ways for the evening because it is end of term and we both have a great deal to do.

I waited outside the Hall of Crypts (the recital rooms are in the crypts, presumably for better quiet. These are not burial crypts; those are elsewhere.) for a good hour and then some, enough time for the sun's flame to wane appreciably. And then I flew back home.

And when I got there, Strenata had sent me a note -- she was going to spend the afternoon hunting for square-crabs with Oonspath.

It was quite an excited note. Square-crabs are only tasty for a few days a year, and she had missed the last year because she was studying the theory of differences, and she had missed the year before because she had broken five of her ribs.

A bit of further prying (inspired by how water-stained the leaf was) revealed that she had written the note from the riverbank, about halfway through my waiting. Presumably she remembered our date, but did not think that I might have been trying to meet her there, so sent the note to my home, far too late.

In any case, Dubaille was not the most sympathetic of listeners. When I expressed complaint about Strenata's neglect, he gave me a vast stinking torrent of abuse, vileness, adultery, oppobrium, torment, and occasional bits of neglect from Lady Quissenden.

I escaped from the flood; I flew out the window! (He had the window open in wintertime for some reason concerning the pile of burnt baked worms in the kitchen, I presume.)

And so I flew to Flooosh's bakery, for complains and poptaloops. She was sweet and sympathetic, and invited me to come to her family's village for the week between terms.

A whole village of Orren.

I am once again doomed.

Why You Should Not Date A ...

I should compile a full list of reasons never to date anyone. "Never date an Orren because they will never remember a date." "Never date a Sleeth because they will kill you." "Never date a Cani because they can tell what you are thinking." Unfortunately, it should be funny, and I can't think of a single funny thing just now. Any ideas?