It has not been a quiet week in the Baggaraggs.
There has been a bout of bronchitis that seems happy to have made its home in the airways of the inhabitants,
The rain has persisted daily,
Providing the perfect environment for mosquitoes, pool algae, and polywogs.
And then Trudy retired from her vocation, her "life long calling," as she liked to say, as a Psychic.
I don't know about Trudy's early predictions, but this later period of her career was infused with dire predictions of horrific deaths, global disasters, and an unhealthy preoccupation with poison.
Her clients grew depressed and anxious, many hospitalized with PTSD, at her graphic predictions of their last moments on Earth.
After a bit, there were no more clients, and Trudy's life long calling shrank to predictions of her own demise.
"Well, I guess tomorrow I will go and make arrangements for my funeral," she said somewhat angrily.
"What?" I coughed.
I have suggested it might be better to have lunch with friends, but Trudy's suggestion of a casket picnic has put even her closest friends ...off.
I'm hoping you can help her.
I have my hands full here.
Sure, she looks a little angry.
I admit that.
But who isn't a little moody from time to time.