Loyal reader Pat has suggested that I take it easy and back off from the apparent obsession I have about meteors. “Tom dear, lie down and put a cold compress on your head,” she advises. I have used an ice pack before when the neurons nudge neurotic nastiness and nuttiness, when the synapses synchronize, surreptitiously searing serious symptoms of silliness into what remains of my slowly rotting mind.
Problem is, after using the ice bag a lot, it got a little soiled. I tossed it in the washer. Its care tag advised against using a clothes dryer, so I hung it on the clothesline. Imagine my surprise when the next time I used it, it leaked! It was shot through with holes. Caused by what? Micro meteorites!
Thanks Pat, but no thanks.
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