IT'S ALL TURNIP! VERY VERY TURNIP!

As a few of my friends know, I've been experimenting with a tin of Samuel Gawith rope tobacco which was opened up a decade ago, and rehydrated recently. Brown No. 4. Which convinces me, if I partake excessively, that you are all eggplants and eat too much. Reason being that it's the kind of tobacco which puts crinkles on your chest.
Or makes you crave tuna fish sandwiches.

The rope is composed of firecured, aircured, and some Virginia.

An old fashioned taste. Not mild, but quite decent. A rich full tobacco. Makes life among the vegetable Americans tolerable. Especially on a day off. Christmas is a valid day off, but I will not go down to Chinatown for a hot cup of milk tea and a pastry as I often like to do on such days, because I do not wish the people who know me there to know that I have nothing to do on a holiday, no relatives to visit, and no actual festive activities planned or even distantly on the horizon. That I am, in fact, a defective person.
Not socially adept.

Not as bad as the street person the other day, screaming that it was all turnip, everything was turnip, very very turnip, dammit, because he was wrong about that (eggplants, perhaps, but turnip, no). And I should point out that everyone for at least a block around heard it he was that loud. It's a novel theory. But I am not audible for even a quarter that distance.
Largely because I do not proclaim my vegetable theories even audibly.

No, I do not lurk on buses mumbling under my breath that you are all eggplants.
Not even my apartment mate has ever heard it.

My apartment mate was napping in her room when I loaded up a pipe and left the building for a stroll around the neighborhood. Which seems rather empty, with several parking spaces vacant. More so than yesterday when it was evident that some people had left town.
High fifties, no wind.


It is important to get outside during the day. Good for circulation, digestion, the entire renal system, and the mood. It clears the mind. And prevents one from turning into a vegetable.
After a few blocks I was in a better temper than before.


Returned for tea and a cookie after the pipe was finished. My apartment mate was sitting up in bed reading, several of the fuzzy critters clustered around her. Including the small red panda, who does NOT want to be the turkey vulture's boyfriend, and the turkey vulture himself, who tends to be on better behaviour in her quarters than in mine.
There is also a stern teddy bear there, you see.
She disapproves of him.


If I were to smoke inside on a day when Savage Kitten is around, the teddy bear would be most upset. I would hear about it. Severely. So I wonder how soon I'll have scoot on out for a good smoke tomorrow.



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