Canon Bawl

I just had a tasty and pretty late lunch/early dinner (linner? dunch?) at Candle Cafe. Ordinarily I would present a few stunning shots of my food for you. You know that. You’ve seen it before. You’ve even, I daresay, come to expect it. (You’re so predictable.)
But today, friends, foes, and foodies (yes, I hate that word), you are out of luck. You see, my stunning Canon camera — the one that produces the luscious, mouth-watering, full-color food photos you’ve come to know and love — is not functioning right now, and has not ever since it managed to get wet the other day thanks to a leaky water bottle with whom it was snuggling in my stylish messenger bag. Tomorrow it is taking a vacation to the Canon spa to see if it can be rejuvenated. Since the water was not of the salt variety, the representative (Hi, Ricky!) thinks it should be all right. So we shall see.
In the meantime, however, I am sobbing. Crying. Wailing. But not too close to my beloved camera. Tears, after all, are salty. And that is a sort of poetic irony that I just cannot abide.