My head is stomping on me (with razor blade socks and flare-shooting slippers) this evening, so I need to keep this short.
I bet I’m the only person in the entire world who spent some time today knitting a sweater for a lobster.
Also, the beard is a moustache away from being finished, and if I were to establish an appreciation society for Black Hockey Jesus, this would be the recommended uniform, only because when I tried the beard on for a photo last night, my very first thought was, “Yes. Black Hockey Jesus.”
I had dinner with Tempe this evening, and as I drove home, Firewood shuffled onto my iPod and I rolled my windows down and let the cold air blast me in the face and everything was absolutely perfect for four minutes and fifty four seconds.