More Fay.

People, it rained. And it rained. And it's still raining, and it's fixing to rain a damn lot more, if radar can be believed. And as much as I want to wax on about how it rained, and about how it never even came close to breaking 80 degrees, and about how TMR and I went to Pete's Grill (hey, 27249) and each ate the 4 Vegetables Plate for $5.50—I had the pintos, the mac & cheese, the greens, and the yams; AMR had some of those and some other ones—and about how I survived the department meeting and only spoke one time, and only then to clarify a point about something having to do with enacting policy about voting about who can vote, what I really want to say is this:

The body shop across the block from Pete's Grill in Gibsonville (hey again, 27249) had in its first bay a WASHING MACHINE. The front was off it—the washing machine, not the body shop—and I can only assume that somewhere deeper in the body shop than can be seen from the sidewalk by Pete's Grill was the front panel of that washing machine, getting body-shopped, which I love more than I love peach ice cream, Egg McMuffins, and salad tongs, all of which I love quite a lot. Somebody took their washing machine to the body shop. Somebody took their washing machine to the body shop. I thought it was worth mentioning twice.

It rained. It's raining. It's supposed to rain some more. We're not getting the tens of inches they got all over the rest of the south, but we're getting, I think, our fair share.