My husband is full of woe. I had to turn aside several sessions in the week due to his suspected swine flu suffering. We live where I play - weird, huh? - and I couldn't have the sounds of his fitful moaning - because he is ever so dramatic about his suffering - interfering with the sounds of my chastising and handing out beltings. We all have to have official 'this is just too weird' boundaries, after all.

I suggested that he not smoke that skunk and drink that brandy last night. I said, 'give yourself time to heal, baby'. But no, he consumed, egged on by moronic friends and now he suffers. I thought he was going to cry when I shambled into the bedroom earlier. But, it was a mere bout of pillow retching. Skunk is the devil's work. What ever happened to the fun loving, giggling high? Why must we be poleaxed and then suffer a hangover? What kind of poison smoke is this?