No pun intended.
b. Why is it that every single time I stop there (no matter what time of day it is) the nice policeman whose spiffy policeman shoes I spilled Diet Coke all over one morning is ALWAYS there, which causes me to turn bright red and babble incoherently about what a terrible klutz I am?
And so, I think it's pretty clear that I've been pretty darn busy.
What with the whole "sickness" thing, and the whole "thinking" thing,
it's truly a wonder that I accomplish anything.
Or I suppose that you also could go with that first theory.
The one about me being a slacker.
In the worst kind of way...