Crayoned Wodehouse

Our masterpiece

We've had a lot of at home time lately, as I'm aware I've told you all repeatedly. The truth is, if I can force you to listen to my trauma, then it's like I'm sharing it, and sharing always means you have less of something, so essentially, I'm decreasing my level of trauma by shoving it down your throats. Don't you feel sorry for me? And aren't you grateful?

Anyway, we've had a lot of at home time lately, and the boys and I are exhausting our usual store of things to do around the house. Which led to pinterest art projects--which were almost, but hopefully not quite, pinterest fails--and fun with crayons! At the very least, the boys were entertained, and I've discovered how to hold Tiny in my lap while melting a crayon with a hair dryer. Someone should give me credit for that.

In the meantime, I've been trying to take it easy myself, since I don't want to get sick either. So yesterday while the boys played, I sat with them, oohed and aahed at appropriate times, and read some P. G. Wodehouse. I love Jeeves and Wooster. I have loved Jeeves and Wooster for a very long time. I plan to love Jeeves and Wooster for the rest of my life. So when the Man lovingly downloaded the kindle app on the smart phone he forced me to buy and then painstakingly walked my technologically challenged self through how to use it, I asked him to find some Wodehouse for me. Free Wodehouse, because I don't like paying for things. It's an illness.

We found My Man Jeeves available for a grand total of $0.00, and I set to reading. Turns out it's a collection of short stories, which is perfect for my current attention span and the fact that I rarely have more than 5 consecutive moments in which to sit down and read. And I loved being back with Bertie Wooster and his proper English valet, the inimitable Jeeves. We hadn't spent time together since college, and, these days, that seems like a long time ago.

As I read I could hear Hugh Laurie's fantastic voice foppishly narrating the tale. For those of you who think Hugh Laurie is an American actor whose greatest accomplishment was playing House, I pity you. And I will be frank enough to say that in this one case I find the TV series (Jeeves and Wooster, not House) just as wonderful as, if not better than, the books (...waiting for lightning to strike...). Now if only Stephen Fry would come be our family's valet...

All that to say, I've been thoroughly enjoying My Man Jeeves, though I was disappointed that not all the stories are about Jeeves and Wooster (and why name a short story collection My Man Jeeves when Jeeves is in only half the stories?). At the very least, I'm now wanting to say such thrilling phrases as "what ho!", "jolly chap," and "old scout" with startling regularity. I also discovered that "streets ahead" is a legitimate British saying, so Pierce was wrongfully if hilariously mocked in that one episode of Community. And then last night when I was getting back in bed after changing Tiny's vomit-encrusted bedding, I heard my internal voice grumble in the Man's general direction, "The bally blighter's pinched the covers again."

Either I'm losing it after ten days of house arrest or the crayon fumes are getting to me (do crayons have fumes?) or I've been reading too much Wodehouse.