When it rains, it pours

Alright, I admit it, I haven't been posting very much lately. There could be any number of reasons for that. Perhaps I have been too busy travelling the world with Bono, working on eradicating third world debt, spending my days sipping coffee in the shade of Jacaranda trees while discussing intricate economic policy with African leaders.

Okay, maybe not.

Perhaps I have had to step away from my laptop in order to spend some quality time with dear, dear Charles and lovely Camilla when they attempted to take on Manhattan. After all, they needed some colonial support - it is just so hard to be away from Highgrove and all that hunting, fishing and shooting, my dear. And New York can be so ..... mean. After all, did you see what they wrote about dear Camilla? And just because she wore a brightly colored suit to a memorial service at Ground Zero.

Or not.

Perhaps the truth is just too miserable to be believed. After all, the thought that I haven't posted in the past month because I chose to have my basement renovated at the exact same time that everyone in the family became sick -not with one, or two, but with three separate illnesses, would be too ridiculous to contemplate. Men knocking out walls, banging on beams, dust sifting through the house while christian portugese music blares from a beat up carpenter's radio - all competing with the sounds of my family retching into the toilet! Not just one time, but three successive weeks of this! Not possible. As would the idea that I am sitting here right now: nose dripping, head clogged with post nasal cement, my nether regions aching from a reaction to a shower gel that led to a rather embarrassing rash in an even more embarassing location .....

Preposterous.

Perhaps the truth will never be known. Save for that lone matchbox sitting on my upstairs dresser. A simple box with The Lost Monkey bar, Turks and Caicos islands, inscribed on it. Hmmmmmm ......

Just call me Shapiro.

Kim Herdman Shapiro.