Man, am I exhausted! Not only did I use up my rather tiny store of French phrases during the lovely visit of Mademoiselle M—, I found it difficult to sleep.
As I suspected, I was kicked out of my boudoir well in advance, apparently so that it could be disinfected. Where, oh, where, should I sleep, I mused. On the beanbag? The chair? Mom and Dad's bed? The $100 avoidance chamber? I was so disoriented that I could not decide. Plus, one night fireworks kept me on alert; the next night, thunderstorms.