So I had to fix a toilet this morning. Man, I hate plumbing. I don't mind electrical repairs, but I hate plumbing. Talked to a guy at a hardware store about it once, and he explained it like this: "If you make a mistake with an electrical repair, electricity doesn't come flooding out of your sockets and ruin your carpet and wreck your house." Of course, plumbers hardly ever die of electrocution. Be that as it may, I still hate plumbing. So I get the toilet fixed. And I go for a walk. It's a nice sunny Sunday. Good to get away from the ashtray, the keyboard, and the incandescent lights. I go a few blocks east and a couple blocks south and a few more west and a couple blocks north, and I see that the pretty neighbor has moved. I used to have a pretty neighbor, down the street a ways. She wore shorts a lot. I never talked to her, but she always smiled sweetly. She had a couple little kids. I never saw her husband. He must have liked her with a 70s/80s look, because she was blonde in a Heather Locklear-Lisa Hartman-Heather Thomas-Priscilla Presley big-hair dark-roots sort of way. And she wore shorts a lot, or did I say that already? Anyway, this darling neighbor has obviously moved away (pity), and her place is now occupied by a really fat couple and their really fat children, and they all wear really wide shorts, and I wish they didn't. You might have noticed that we don't have a lot of morbidly obese people pictures here on this blog. Well, there's a reason for that. I mean, I don't go around wearing a "No Fat Chicks" T-shirt or anything. But, well, you know what I mean. Anyway, it was depressing. You'd be depressed, too, if Heather Freaking Locklear moved away, right? But the walk in the sun was good. Got my bones un-creaked. Got my blood flowing, not as well as Heather Locklear, but flowing just the same. It's always nice to have a pretty neighbor. They should be required in everyone's neighborhood.