After all of yesterday’s talk about mud season, guess where my husband is? That’s right. Out riding my ATV with some friends. (On private land not subject to mud season closure.)
Rather than dwell too much on how I’d like to whack him upside the head with his own helmet, I’m trying to get some writing done. Not sleeping well, being left behind and a sugar rush from too many cookies are making me a little cranky, though, which results in rather sarcastic dialogue flowing from the characters’ mouths.
I have exactly 17 minutes before the boys ask me what’s for lunch, and I’m guessing the Short Kid will push for Burger King. He seems to be the only
sheep consumer on the planet actually sucked in by the hideous I like Square Butts ad. In my head I’ll be ordering a salad, although I’m sure the word Whopper will accidently escape my lips at an inopportune moment—like at the drive-thru.
Just another Sunday at Casa Stacey.