When even veggie sellers know your name

So many nice things happened to me yesterday and I can't tell you about ANY of them. *sigh* One because even though it's a done deal, I'm waiting for it to be so irrevocable that it's basically a life change (NO, NO MARRIAGE OR BABIES) and the other because at this point it exists only in two emails, so when those two turn into an actual contract or something, I'll let you know.

My veggie seller just rang the doorbell and handed us a packet of very strange looking zucchini, if this is zucchini after all and not just some misshapen squash with stripes. "How does he know where we live?" asked the Good Thing, who is very We-Will-Not-Even-Put-Our-Names-On-The-Door. "I've lived here for four years," I told him, (I'm a pro names-on-door myself. Like claiming your territory.) "Everyone knows where I live." True, but not very comforting, I suspect.

I joined my friends' book club a few months ago, and this thing happens each time it draws closer, I've read every single book in the whole world except for the one we're supposed to be reading. This month's selection was actually my idea, and it's this massive book (Hangwoman by K R Meera ), and I now have to spend the whole day reading it in entirity. Poor ol' me.

Of course, thanks to this whole death penalty thing, the book is very topical and we should have some good debates, which is always the goal of book club. We also drink a lot of wine and eat a lot, so there's that. Which is basically the ideal book club.

I've had a lot of emails asking if I'll do sponsored posts/native ads on this blog, and the answer is always YES. Well, no. Not always. But if it's a nice brand, and I can make some money, why not, I ask you. WHY NOT. I don't know where this sudden splurge of popularity came from, but I put it all down to the post I did yesterday because after I published it, all the emails started coming in. The perks of blogging regularly!

TODAY IN CATS: So, we lock Olga and Squishy out at night and let Bruno sleep in the bedroom with us, but when he wants feeding he climbs on the bed and starts licking any part of my leg or arm that's out of the sheet. And that SOUNDS sweet, but he has this little raspy sandpaper tongue, and if he does it hard enough, I'm sure he'll give me a friction burn or something.

Also I bought a book on the history of the cat, which is actually really fascinating, and you should get a copy yourself. (BUT FIRST I NEED TO FINISH HANGWOMAN BY TOMORROW!!)

My name is Lord Squishington and I endorse this book