Brynn, holy moly. I never, ever knew this before Googling it six seconds ago, but it's not Wilde. It's Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred (Bosie) Douglas, who in addition to being Wilde's boytoy was a very minor poet who wrote one truly great poem "Two Loves." The final stanza goes:
What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.'
Then straight the first did turn himself to me
And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame,
But I am Love, and I was wont to be
Alone in this fair garden, till he came
Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill
The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'
Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will,
I am the love that dare not speak its name.'
(from this website)
ION, OUCH OUCH OW GODDAMNIT MARCH, STEP OFF.
I just got a call from Hec; he's in a local ER with Emmett, who took a hard baseball to the face at very close range, has a blood-gushing broken nose, and never wants to play baseball again, ever.
FUCK YOU, MARCH. HANDS OFF THE BOY, ASSHOLE.
I no longer ever use poison, because of the number of times I've had to deal with dead rats and mice in my house. When you trap them, you know where they are.
Great Stuff works really well, but wear gloves and clothes you don't care about.
Oh JZ, I'm
so
sorry. That's awful.
Crap. Poor little Emmett!
Oh no, Emmett! JZ, please let us know how he is, and how poor David is, too. He must just be horribly upset.
{{Emmett, Emmett's nose, Emmett's family!}} Poor thing. But story to tell after the painful part of the memory is gone.
Eeeee. Hec just called back - he and Emmett's mom are both there with him; the swelling is going down and Emmett is calm and quiet now, but Hec said he was screaming and hollering with pain at first.
He rode to the ER in an ambulance, poor screamy lamb.
And he's mellowed out, icepacking his face and cuddled with his parents, but he's out of commission for a few weeks, and right now he's pretty adamant about No More Baseball.
Poor critter. He got such pleasure from it, and he's so good at it.
Fucking MARCH.
