The power was out.
It was dark.
I'd just moved into a new flat, and the route from sofa to pantry was convoluted, perilous, strewn with boxes. And laundry. And Coffee Crisp wrappers. And stiff socks. (All right. I'd been there three weeks, maybe a month, but who has time to unpack, between "Seinfeld" and "Frasier" and "Law and Order?")
The powercut wore on, into the night. The vague, pleasant burn of hunger that'd begun around prime time was a full-fledged conflagration, by the "Tonight" show. If I couldn't reach the pantry soon, I would die, simply DIE!
So I put on my Party Rats, and did some night blogging. (On my iPod, which doesn't hold a charge as well as it did--but it'll get me through the odd crisis of electricity.)
At any rate, I blogged my heart out. I blogged of the powercut, of my hunger, of my loneliness, and my desperation. I blogged of the misery of a night without Leno. I put out a plea: bring me food! Bring me water!
Nobody did, but the glow of my Party Rats revealed half a bag of Cheetos wedged between the cushions. I ate them. I didn't die.
Thank you, Party Rats. <3 <3 <3