Antarctica. February 2011.
Provisions running dangerously low. My Chunky Soup stash that would normally have lasted ’til winter’s end is exhausted. I struggle to find items for the already-meager lunches I take to work. No sweets or treats as far as the eye can see.
Yesterday, the following exchange took place:
Henry: (gazing longingly into an months-old bag of stale popcorn from the pantry) “All that’s in here is crumbs!”
Sally: (curtly) “That’s all we got.”
The cats look like large, walking sirloin steaks.
If anyone reads this message, please airdrop a bag of Goldfish crackers. Something! Anything!