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Tuesday, November 1st, 2005 09:20 pm
I can't think of anything constructive to say at the moment, and am currently in a mood where I want to complain.[1] It's like writer's block.

Some jerk[2] waited until the staff of Perfect Books[3] were all busy and made it out the door with twenty-one paperbacks; apparently their need for Terry Pratchett was too strong for them to take the time for such mundane courtesies as purchasing and commerce. To say I am less than impressed by this is an understatement.

My cats are healthy. Toby and Aby are relaxing even more around each other.

Am progressing in fits and starts through Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behaviour.
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[1] For what it's worth, I am quite sure that no-one who could reasonably be expected to be reading this is the source of any of my current discomfort.
[2] Lacking sufficient articulation to express my feelings on the topic, I am choosing to use the word in the discrete sign the owner tacked up to explain why she would no longer be able to stock Terry Pratchett, but would happily order them in for customers.
[3] 258A Elgin Street, lovely store, helpful staff, firm policy of always applying the discount to the most expensive book being purchased.