The Chattery Chill

Old oven out.

New oven in.

Masked workmen in the house.

Blow frigid wind in.

A nursery rhyme for these pandemic times when all ‘quarantine breakers’ (i.e. oven installers) are met with open windows and a chattery January chill.

When this is all over, will anyone remember how freaking weird it really got?

I’m hoping for retrograde amnesia myself.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

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