The truth sets everyone free, Eugene
I went to cocktail hour last night--very rare for me to do so on a weekday, rarer, as Greg would say than finding a box of Dash or hens' teeth;' So last evening's posts are pretty whimsical.
Now for the truth: my grandmother, Margaret Crotty, whom I worshipped, was afraid of electricity and lightening. I pretend that I am not afraid of electricity, but I think some transference has occurred, even of it's subconscious. My Greyghost which I offered to Tuthill, or anyone who wants it, scares me because ONE, the drain port is directly above the motor; and TWO, I swear I feel a mild current whenever I touch it but I am tactilely hyper-sensitive, so a normal person might feel nothing; and although it is very exciting, I want no part of it. Would you like my Greyghost, Eugene?
Or would anyone else? Whoever--I'll put your name on it and keep it indefinitely. It sits in the far corner of a large garage, silently waiting to excite.