Whenever you let your guard down, something is bound to happen, especially in an environment of so much energy and ego.

While I was texting from my sick bed, Jeremy was off in the woods participating in some exercises that would give him another medal, legal wiz Riley was in Spain, and the best fly-on-the-wall of all, Pimpernel, was in England. On my two brief visits over the weekend I did hear virulent rumors about The Palace being sold, which is not new. For two years I have heard of dozens of would-be buyers anxious to purchase the ideally-situated business. I'd like to buy Versailles, too, but what's the point?

Apparently rumors, fermented by our crazy neighbor, got completely out of hand in a way that only someone who has seen this place and this town and the people in it can understand and Ditmar--of all people--was dismissed. Again not there, I was awakened to the disturbing news on Monday night; I was still in a NyQuil and pill haze on Tuesday when I tried to sort it out. Last night there was a strange hush from the friends I see every day. It's the type of crowd that likes everything to be the same; they were perplexed.