Twenty four little hours. From a grey-minded day, lacking oomph and chutzphah and pazazz to a searing white hot joy-coaster with laughter and none of the sturm und drang of muh but the ringing from the hills of hurrah instead.
An evening with the missus was what did it.
Turned that day around and headed for the lush green watermeadow plains of evening relaxation and appreciation, real true great appreciation, for what we have when we talk about life.
And screw grammar and sense. I'm talking here.
The risotto was pretty good, too.