Damn you, letter ‘L’, oh how you mock me.
For some reason I cannot fathom (I am, as you all know, a fastidious man and take precise and considered care with all my possessions) I have manged to break the ‘L’ key on my keyboard. All I was doing was walking, quite innocently, from A to B and somehow stood on the keyboard, my not insignificant presence breaking the ‘L’ off where it lay upon the rug like it had suddenly lost the will to live and had cast itself away from it’s alphabetized cohorts in a desperate suicide bid.
Have you ever tried writing when your keyboard lacks a key and you have to aim at the rubbery stump that remains? It is not pleasant. Every letter ‘L” is a pause in the typing as my chunky finger gropes for the thing. Two thousand words later and I am possessed of the urge to kill.
Perhaps the worst thing I could have considered doing was writing a blog entry where the main subject matter was the offending letter itself. That just spanks of masochism, a word I abhor because it pains me to do so.
For information purposes I would add that this blog entry contains TWENTY NINE ‘L’s. No, thirty if I include that one. Thirty one with that one too. STOP, for the ‘ove of GOD!