Matters of Fact (Day 45)

“As a matter of fact,” I wondered aloud, “what does the fear of goats smell like?”

If Thomas had still been alive, he might have had some scathing riposte for this nonce outburst. He had always been such a stickler, I used to wonder sometimes if he could possibly go a whole day, no, if he could even go an hour without uttering a sentence that began with “As a matter of fact…” I could give him a list now: as a matter of fact, he had driven me crazy with his constant quibbling; as a matter of fact, I did not actually want his opinion on how that dress made my butt look; as a matter of fact, I’m surprised I hadn’t killed him years ago.

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