Beating the Drum, Slowly
My Father’s Day was lovely, as, I hope, was yours.
"When I do not want to say things in real life I often say them here." — Mimi Smartypants
It didn’t happen if there are no pix
My Father’s Day was lovely, as, I hope, was yours.
Donna’s at her annual sewing guild retreat, partying with friends, free from the demands of kitchen, hearth, husband, and dogs.
This morning I looked up shiggy in the Urban Dictionary. Turns out I was pretty close.
Donna and I celebrated our 57th wedding anniversary yesterday with gifts, a matinee, and dinner out.
TIL (today I learned) that a tube of flavored Chapstick, placed in a drawer ten years ago and then forgotten, goes rancid.
A sensible person would quit while he’s ahead, forget about the Orient in the bush and settle for the Casio in hand. Give you one guess what I’m going to do.
What to do? Soak up the barf with paper towels and go back to bed.
I guess it’s to be expected that 4th of July parades and gatherings are turning into mass shooting events, as they did yesterday in Chicago and Philadelphia.