As I’ve resurfaced, I’ve been busy enough taking a few deep breaths as I've come back up that Crappy! Charts! have not been… top of mind.
It's a strange sensation, to feel like you fell asleep to your own life for a bit. It happens to me many a winter (Note to immune system: you actually have a job. It's supposed to involve fighting disease), but I never quite get used to it. Before you feel all bad for me and how haarrrrdd it is for me: my folks live up the street. My mom and dad both cooked for me and helped mind my kids so I could rest (and you would not believe the baby harp seal face my mom makes when I get really sick - a face often followed by some delicious homemade soup). Stumpy hauls Curly and my boy to their early ice times on weekends to let me get more rest. I'm not exactly beset by misfortune. But IF you still feel so bad for me and my dysfunctional immune system that you have to send me a ginormous Barney's gift certificate, well. By all means.
Never fear, though. Crappy! Charts!, like MacArthur (although, um, maybe instead of all heroically, kind of... snarkily?), Shall Return.
As for the word of wine advice? Never buy a wine that shares a name with the swelling of lymph nodes associated with diseases like the bubonic plague, syphilis and gonorrhea. That name? Bubo. Yeah. Not so appetizing, is it? Stumpy innocently grabbed a bottle of wine, and found out, after I shared the reasons for my previously undiscovered name-based aversion, that he shared the aversion, too (amazing how talking about “swelling” “bubonic plague” and “gonorrhea” takes away a thirst). It probably didn’t help that the wine sucked. Hmm. Tastes bad and shares a name with nasty swellings associated with filthy diseases? Not even for cooking.