Somewhere, out in the wilds of The Big City, in a one-room studio apartment, curled up in bed feeling sick and feverish, is a lonely Young Lady who wants her mommy.
“This is why people have flatmates,” I suggested. “So they can serve you chicken soup.” Okay, maybe not. I’ve never actually heard of someone serving their roomie chicken soup. Or otherwise pampering them for being sick. (Then again, how would I?) Which may be why the YL replied, “Or get married.”
“Reason #11?” I asked.
“Reason #2,” she answered. I think the exigencies of her condition may have contributed to an artificial inflation there. But it’s definitely on the list.