The following is the redacted email I sent to Wilma this evening. The circumstances outlined in the email led to a meltdown in the car, such that 50 minutes after Sabrina was returned to me (that sounds worse than the circumstances were), she finally had her seatbelt on. (At which point she told me that she didn't want to listen to music or news, and she didn't want it to be quiet in the car. So I'm not sure what she wanted. Ultimately she cheered up and talked to me, and then started reciting Hickory Dickory Dock.)
What are you running out of?
21 hours ago