Timing is Everything

As French Artist Husband was winging his way back to me last night, from a trip to show his paintings in Paris; defying the natural progression of time by flying East to West; getting younger by the minute, the very fabric of the Universe was rent asunder to insert an arbitrary hour. Pray tell, where has that hour been all summer?

Somehow, as the Big Fat Seamstress of the Skies grabbed the flimsy edges either side of the patch, a stitch was dropped and two suitcases, that would otherwise have arrived with him after an arduous and uncomfortable flight, in a wheelbarrow flown by Delta Airlines, on which the proffered food was "rolled up, plastic wrapped and unrecognizable", slid sideways onto another time plane and may never be seen or heard from again.