On Friday, we picked up our mail on the way out of town. We managed to get two extremes in one mail delivery:
Good mail = Hubby's tax return cheque. Marriage means sharing, right?!
Bad mail = a letter informing me I have an appointment with a neurologist. No reason given, just the date and time. Hmmmm.
Maybe I'll need to use the tax money to buy a new brain. If so, I want a new body to go with it, please.