Shaken, not stirred.
Faith continues to heal at a rate which just isn’t fast enough for her or those of us who keep getting hit by her neck bound weapon of dermal destruction.
Her tenacity is no worse for the wear throughout this event. As such, she will follow you around and try to pass you at points, only to be stopped by the expanded range her cone gives to her little bullet shaped head.
We took it off today to see if she would leave her bandage alone. I even sprayed it down with Yuck to get her to leave it alone.
Faith appears to have another week dressed up as the chosen beverage of your stereotypical British spies who cavort with hot loose women while uttering cheesy tongue in cheek puns about the monologuing bad guy they just dispensed with in the pool of laser beam armored sharks.
Tomorrow morning is Saturday. I’ll be sitting outside with my new ereader trying to shake the eery comparison I see between Zaphod Beeblebrox and a certain politician we all know who’s running for re-election. In tow, I will have a bowl of Corn Chex, a glass of cranberry grape juice, and a pit bull. I will use the cereal to continue to show Hope how to read.
Wish me luck. The only language she seems to know sounds a lot like Klingon.