[ With House sensing there's no time like the present, he only gets half an hour to cram in all of that self care before his ride turns up. In the driver's seat, House is wrapped in a sheepskin coat, a hand-knitted wool hat, and aviator-style sunglasses which appear to have been made by someone with only a passing knowledge of what they're supposed to look like.
He pulls the cart up outside of Jim's little cabin and lays on the horn, expecting the usual Imperial March melody -- instead, it's the loud, long blat of an ocean liner coming into harbor. Whoops.
Just to make it clear, House shouts over the top of it: ]
Sorry! That one wasn't me! Might need to light a match! [ And so on. ]
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He pulls the cart up outside of Jim's little cabin and lays on the horn, expecting the usual Imperial March melody -- instead, it's the loud, long blat of an ocean liner coming into harbor. Whoops.
Just to make it clear, House shouts over the top of it: ]
Sorry! That one wasn't me! Might need to light a match! [ And so on. ]