It’s hard to take anything seriously while watching two kids run around the kitchen table singing Mr. Snoodle Doodle Doo, not that I had much of anything serious to say this evening, anyway. I’m just in a habit lately of making an attempt to write something every day. This isn’t the type of Saturday night I remember from my recent past. Thankfully. After the pizza and Play-Do I’m contemplating nothing stronger or more decadent than a cup of tea with honey.
Who is this guy?
Me.
Ponies. Ponies.
Yes, it is true I may be on the dizzying precipice of a mild form of temporary madness, induced by sugar, white flour, and having small, energetic creatures whir around me in a frenzy, but I’ll take that over nights a decade ago where I wouldn’t even know where I was by this time on Saturday night.
The only villain this night is Dr. Strangeglove. And with that I have some tea to brew.
