I was about twenty minutes from a finished painting, I was In The Zone, when Painter ate it.

My last alternate save had been three hours before. I had been so in the zone that I spaced saving it. It’s entirely my own fault for carelessness, which makes the sting even worse. Righteous indignation would be bad enough, but the wages of stupidity is file death.

It’s been a really bad week for art for me. Even my beloved digital took this opportunity to put the boot in. Sheesh.

On the bright side, as I played WoW with James (who suffered a renewed interest a few days ago) and we trotted along, trailing enemies who were chasing us and which I could not be bothered to fight, I heard him splutter.

“What?”

“It’s…you’re…” I heard the ominous silence as he gathered his formidable powers of metaphor, and finally burst out with “You’re like a coupla hot dogs in a beaver kennel!”

I stopped even trying to play and turned to stare at him.

“A beaver kennel?”

“Um…maybe I meant…um….a weasel yard?”

I wonder what color the sky is on his world…