Still, whatever I did, it worked, and Little Johnny's dead. I mean, you can't survive a humiliation like that, can you? It's beyond the kind of humiliation that necessitates instant retirement 'for family reasons'. It's the kind of humiliation that you really need to just drop dead of a tragic disease after. I'm thinking maybe Huntington's, or Lou Gehrig's.
My father and I were discussing spending the proceeds of an election bet he made with his neighbours on a small memorial to John. Maybe a small stone tablet. We got as far as "Here lies..." and then we couldn't get any further because of the laughing.
I'm still a bit drunk after Saskia's marvelllous party on Saturday. I actually clicked my heels. Right around the humiliation speech, I also proposed to Anna. She's accepted, provided I can furnish her with an acceptable diamond, in platinum. I'm buying Kinder Surprises by the trayful, maybe I'll get lucky?