Mosquitoes of TERROR

Dear god, the mosquitoes (aided somewhat by blackflies), out for a mid-morning feast upon the blood of the living! J. and I just went to Ipswich for some raspberry picking and received about a dozen bites a minute. Had I known earlier what I know now, I would have gladly paid the extra two bucks for pre-picked.

I started to drive back, for the practice, but halfway I realized that I didn't actually have my permit with me, so I figured that was a good a time as any to visit "Ironbeard Games," which I have often noticed but never patronized, in the parking lot outside of which J. and I could switch places in the car. Sadly, Lord Ironbeard doesn't move his mighty bulk from his septuagenarian mother's basement before 1 PM.(*)

Here's an idea for a niche sitcom: a 45-year-old rotund Elder Gamer and a 20-year-old stick-figured kid in black who has only ever played "Vampire" and CCGs have to share an apartment when they are forced to move out of their respective basement lairs. Hilarity ensues.

(*) I must stress that most of the information in this sentence is pure speculation, except for the time at which the store opens.