For the good wishes and the L-lysine recommendation, which I'll try out this morning, having slept through another day. I can't remember having a canker sore in adulthood, and I think I'd just ignore it if it weren't in such a painful spot. As it is it's not my real problem, which is a more-or-less annual case of swollen glands and diverticulosis, both aggravated by several days of high humidity.
Plus I ran out of yogurt and was too lethargic to go get any more, especially seeing as how I'm now boycotting the new whole-foods store a mile up the road because they installed do-it-yourself cash registers and left customers to figure them out for themselves. So I wind up driving three miles to my regular place, only to get in line behind what had to be a Crunchy Con, even if she didn't know it. A woman, roughly my age, with thirteen different produce items, who was sighing audibly, theatrically, because the elderly cashier and his more elderly customer in front of her weren't moving fast enough. Then the moment this human barricade in front of her opens she remembers an item she didn't pick up, finally returns with it (a grapefruit), then doesn't remember what type it is. Oh, but then she remembers that it wasn't an organic one, because she didn't like the looks of those. She breaks off this conversation to make the bagger take everything out of the bag and redo it alphabetically by color. Then she returns her attention to the cashier, who has arbitrarily chosen pink or white, which price she now objects to, so the guy voids that and rings it up as the one that's five cents cheaper. She didn't know which one it was, but she knew what the price wasn't.
I made it to the parking lot just as she climbed into her Panzer, so I suppose the Crunchies would try to disown her.