If I had the kind of job I could call in sick to, I would have called in sick today. But I don't. So I didn't. Instead I went in and waddled around the office. That's right, I waddled. Because my knees are so sunburned, I cannot straighten my legs. So instead I walk like a duck -- knees bent, butt sticking out, tiny steps. A duck with a limp, in fact. A matronly, splotchy duck with a limp who sits at her desk with ice packs balanced on each thigh and groans audibly when forced to lift herself from or lower herself into her chair.
I would like to tell you more about my fascinating life as a matronly, limping, groaning duck, but I just got home from work and still have to finish a freelance job. Tomorrow I hope to post something about (a) the yachtsman's strawberry shortcake (the dessert, not the doll), (b) the pros and cons of reading trashy mystery novels, or (c) my plans to begin referring to myself in the third person as "the duck." But the duck is not making any promises.