Breakfasts One-Hundred-and Eighty-Six, Seven and Eight

Oh dear, too many late nights again this weekend. Not even particularly late ones, but late enough that the call of the land of nod trumped my good intentions to relate some scintillating tale or other. Of course, now that I sit down to it, I can think of nothing to say except that my snail is gone. I wonder what became of it.

Also, I was found this particular passage in a Guardian article about how botox turns people into unsympathetic robots rather funny:

To demonstrate this you asked women to look at photographs of people's eyes and match them to human emotions…

'Yes, it's called the "Reading the mind in the eyes test."'…

Doesn't really seem worth naming the test in this instance. I mean, if it were called something obscure like the Jones Test, why not? But it's a test in which people are asked "to look at photographs of people's eyes and match them to human emotions" called the "reading the mind in the eyes test"!

P.S. Can't get my card reader to work, so you'll have to last one more day to find out what I've been breakfasting on...