My house reeks of bœuf bourguignon. It’s pleasantly oppressive.
I am currently receiving cosmic comeuppance for never managing to reply to e-mails and such in a timely fashion. Lesson learned, Internet; now please get your shit together so tomorrow doesn’t turn into a total fiasco.
Theory: Personal crisis can be at least partially mitigated by the liberal consumption of vanilla ice cream with raspberries and a fancy port chocolate sauce. I will devote the rest of my night to rigorous experimentation in this vein. FOR SCIENCE.