Friend Pens the Lotion Slut will not be joining me for a week of debauchery after all.
Friend Pens has the worst boss in the world. The day before she's supposed to come see me for a week of champagne, IKEA, and swimming in spring-fed pools, he swanned into town without warning. Worse, his minions passed out a pre-arranged itinerary that had entries on it that said, in burning letters that would do J.K. Rowlings proud, "LOTION SLUT'S PRESENCE REQUIRED OR SHE WILL BE FED TO THE WOMBATS."
Pens, being an intelligent woman with a good grasp of the essentials, decided that not being fed to wombats trumped champagne and strawberry trifle. I don't blame her; I believe wombats are vegetarian (or, at the very least, have kind of dull teeth), so being nommed repeatedly by a cage-ful of them would certainly suck.
On the upside, it's still the week during which my pal Suz the Rat Wrangler will be liberated from the crazy man she had the bad fortune to marry lo those many years ago. So the champagne and strawberry trifle will still happen; it'll just happen without the L.S.
And, as a result, I am bummed.