Since Husbear is out of town on business this week (DC, for those of you who absolutely must know), I have moved my workstation downstairs to the kitchen. This has less to do with easy access to snacks than it does in keeping his mini-macaw, domiciled therein, from shrieking her discontent -- and by doing so, protecting my sanity.
However, this has brought up an interesting point:
Q: When do you know it is time for a new microwave?
A: When running the old one knocks you off the wireless network.