I spent three hours this morning wending my way about the western part of the state in a series of vehicles, one operated by my sister but the others by the federal government, on my way to an appointment with a certain dermatologist in the city of Worcester when, about 30 minutes from arriving there, I was informed by the newfangled cellular wireless talking thing said appointment was canceled. Immediately the great gears reversed and a contrary chain of conveyances deposited me back home six hours after I'd left, still dermed but not atologized. I expect my agent will call shortly with bad news about my career, probably on that same talking thing.
Maybe I should just turn it off.
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