Yes, I spent two and a half hours, tried four different subway routes and trudged 30 minutes until my face looked like a shiny wet tomato, all to just end up going back home (after unintentional forays into the East Village and Downtown Brooklyn). But that’s not important. What I did learn this afternoon, more than once, while the TV played in the background was, “No matter how formidable you are, you're no match for a dangerous clot.” Clots trump tornadoes.
What kind of foul slogan is that? Clot is a tough word on the ears (wound is gross, too). Clotted cream is one of the world’s most thick, delicious dairy byproducts but I wince whenever I hear the name said aloud. It’s not like I eat scones with the full shebang more than once a year, so I’m usually safe. Thanks to Plavix, the airwaves will now be clogged with clots.