As had happened so often in the past, I was conscious of an impending doom. Exactly what form this would take I was of course unable to say - it might be one thing or it might be another -- but a voice seemed to whisper to me that somehow, at some not distant date, Bertram was slated to get it in the gizzard.
-- How Right You Are, Jeeves, by P.G. Wodehouse
Thirty-three Latin final exams. Twenty-some excruciating pages of sentence translation. Much red ink. Tears, hysterical laughter, and pre-teen classroom flatulence. Then a punctured tire, delayed start, numerous meltdowns from the youngest family member, with only audiotapes of Ian Carmichael reading the above book to spur us on to the pit stop. And tomorrow is another day.
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