One day I came home and there was The Wife Unit, glaring at me. No one, and I mean no one, can out-glare Southern Girl Blonde.
“I found some of YOUR magazines under our son’s bed!” she said in an accusatory tone.
I wrack my brain. Did Thing One find some ancient porno mags, of which I did not even remember purchasing, in some forgotten box in the closet in the library?
She waves the offending magazines at me, most likely repressing an urge to smack with them:
At that moment, I was a satisfied, smug, proud father. Thing One, I knew, would turn into a great man, a caring, protective husband and father.
Thing One is not feeling well today. No writing this Friday, he’s going to want his Daddy. After he goes to bed, I’m reading a book.
No more blogging today either! You 7.3 readers, you come back tomorrow!