When the sun turns traitor cold

I need a bumper sticker that says "I Survived Yom Kippur."* For various health reasons, I had planned not to fast this year, but due to spending the entire day in a synagogue and consequently not near anything edible—they notice if you try to snack on the congregants—I inadvertently kept the fast. But it was worth it, for the music. I did have to tell at least half a dozen people that I am neither an out-of-work cantor nor studying to be one, which amused me immensely. And I arrived home to discover that I had just won a hideous fictional death from sosostris2012. L'shanah tovah, on that note. Now excuse me while I effect a nervous collapse.

*I also need a bumper sticker that says "Never Blaspheme The Aspidistra," but that's another story. Suffice to say that the simultaneous re-reading of Dorothy Sayers and P.G. Wodehouse has been producing some unexpected side effects. I shudder to think how I sound in correspondence these days.