This is a very real Saturday morning for us. Tom got up early, I slept late, we’re chatting about last night (henceforth to be known as Jenny Lawson night, that which shall live on in family lore), there’s a chicken among us, and Tom has James Taylor on in the background.
There’s good days, then there are days when you have to push your chicken’s insides back into her butthole. Twice.
There aren’t enough disinfectant wipes in the world. I need one for my brain, but I’m not sure which hole to stick it in. I know which one I’m NOT, I’ll tell you that for sure. It wouldn’t be the fastest route to my brain anyway. Well, my friends would probably say so, anyway.