I ate breakfast with Mrs. Jones and George again this morning. This is getting to be a regular thing every Sunday. She cooked poached eggs on toast with cheddar sprinkled on the top. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. She could make a dish rag taste good.
I left as George was taking his mother to church.
"I am coming over later," George told me.
"I hope you're sober," I mumbled under my breath.
The parental units should get home today. I restart therapy tomorrow after a week's break. I am apprehensive about it. The foot and knee are doing great though.