Cept for one little thing. I do hate to complain amongst (amidst?) all these blessings, Lord knows, but it turns out that when I am sitting in my chair, the top of my head and the bottom of the air flow shooting frigid air straight into the room just perfectly match up. Picture wasps of my hair flapping in the breeze. Turns out I have a thing for cold air blowing directly onto my thinning bean. It's a hate thing.
Mister thought and thought. He nodded off occasionaly, but to his credit, he mostly thought. We brainstormed. It was just really a light sprinkle. Then he very cleverly decided to buy some plastic acrylic sheets and have them cut, just so, this x that, two at an angle, and he would glue sides A and B to side C and be done with my bagging about it.
Only trouble was, he told the nice lady at the home supply the wrong measurements. (As a public service, and to save you the trouble, you should know that when that happens, there is apparently a law limiting each household to a specific foot measure of acrylic and you are not allowed to go back to the store and buy the correctly measured product.) Mister also had trouble finding a glue that would work on Polly Filene Hydrochlorinoid.
I said, oh, honey, never mind. How about we buy one of those furnace vent plastic sleeves that direct the air flow into the room? They are adjustable and I have this strip of magnetic tape, and if we . . . what's that? Oh, well, sure if you'd rather try and make your pieces that are too small work, stretch and bend unbendable acrylic, and glue your fingers together with this glue that isn't really meant for . . . no, no, you go ahead. You betcha.
(I think broken cookies don't have calories, he thinks we have a pet elephant. I don't judge.)
(And wasn't that mean of me to make you say 'glue globule' twice? It feels like you've got peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, huh?)