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Greetings, my fellow port swillers, and happy All Saints Day!

Regular friends of the decanter may recall Ol’ Robbo’s post the other day about the domestic crisis which had reared its ugly head at Port Swiller Manor over my disinclination to get a flu shot?

Well, after going to Mass at lunchtime today to mark the Solemnity and pondering the gentle Irish padre’s homily on the mosaic of little acts of love that make up the collage of saintliness in the ordinary person, I resolved to turn the other cheek, to render unto Mrs. Caesar that which is Mrs. Caesar’s, to Offer It Up in the cause of the sacramental bond of marriage.

In other words, to cave and get the damn shot.

This was my very first flu shot, by the bye, and I sheepishly confess that I may have been making much ado about nothing.  I had got it in my head that the vaccine was something akin to a tetanus booster, which hurts like the blazes, so you may imagine my surprise at what a trifling little prick it actually was.

Mrs. R was delighted when I showed her the band-aid this evening, but I fear we’re still at a rolling stalemate, much like Grant and Lee in the 1864 campaign.

“Don’t ever hector me like that again,” I said.

“Fine,” she replied, “Just get the shot in the first place next time.”

“No,” I said, “I mean don’t do that.”

“I won’t,” she replied, “If you just get the shot in the first place next time.”


At least I have the comfort of knowing that if I do come down with something this year, her “I told you so!” has been nullified.






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