With one hand I type, and within the other, I hold my breakfast.
A week ago, I met my godson for the first thru third time. Little Silas. The parents even found newsy type caps for the occasion. However, I have learned from my other little cousins, it will take twelve years or so of infrequent visits for him to remember who I am. He looked up at me with big, blue eyes and spit-up over his fourth outfit of the day. I whispered important phrases of nonsense into his ear as he spat out his Iowa Hawkeyes pacifier.
On a side note, my toast tastes like bacon. Due to the fact that I haven’t had pork like products within my house for three months, I am ignoring the improbable nature of this claim and savoring the pure bliss.
My coffee tastes a bit like hot rubber… mmm. Bacon on the go. It’s like a road trip without the nasty cheese holding everything in place.
On the subject of cute, little things. My parents have found an abandoned kitten. They waited two weeks to name it - the family Veterinarian needed to determine its sex, then after finding out it was a boy, called it Sam. Sam has decided that he is a parrot, and sits proudly on my father’s shoulder. Together they harvested the fields this year, plundering the amber waves of they bounty once again. Whenever Sam gets sleepy, he just slides off into Dad’s hood for a little cat nap. It’s so cute I can’t hardly stand it.
Well you gang of ninjas, zombies and plutocrats, I gotta run. Keep the ice clean, and may the flamingos keep politics interesting!
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