... for eye strain?

OK, that didn't work quite as well as Snarky had hoped, nor is it nearly as pleasant as ice cream. Nevertheless, she is suffering from ever compounding eye strain as she moves from eight hours in front of the computer (under fluorescent lights in "The Cracker Cave") to a few poorly light hours throwing things around/together/into boxes at the apartment, to a couple more hours in the waning gloom of evening working up close and personal with various nooks and cranies and surfaces of their soon-to-be kalidescopic domicile.

The peepers are pooped, folks.

Add to that the nocturnal goings on at Flat du Snark (Snarky is an equal opportunity mangler of all languages) in the form of feline gymnastics (Seriously, what is the deal with cardboard and plastic bags and the licking? Does it really taste that good?) and there is just no rest for the wicked winkers in the forseeable future.

While some more painting is on the docket for tonight's Chez Snark visitation, Snarky thinks she'll try to truncate the errand and convince The Mister that a break is in order in the form of the one-two punch of eye candy (24 and Grey's Anatomy season finale) and gelato.