“What time do we have to leave in the morning?” Becca asked.
“Seven would make me happy,” I said, “But eight at the absolute latest. Worst case scenario, we have to leave by eight. If one of the kids spontaneously bursts into flames and the other two are running around naked, we still leave by eight.”
“Flames, huh?”
“Flames. Eight ‘o clock.”
“Okay.”
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What about poop? There’s always poop.
Fantastic post. Happy Thanksgiving good sir…
Isn’t it scary for you to think like this? I believe thoughts are dangerous. Good thoughts become good things, bad thoughts become bad things