I am completely out of gas. I just don't have it in me tonight.
It's going to get worse before it gets better. The other sub brazer won't be back for a while. I don't know how long. I'm not going to be telling someone else's business here, but let's just say her child has something a little more serious than a cold.
Those of you of the praying mind, lift the little boy up, would you?
In the meantime, I'll be weighing anchor and piloting the ship by myself. That means going in early, staying late, and dealing with cranky poop-eating dogs while I'm home.
Rylea says, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm an absolute angel. And about that poop-eating thing...I'm pleading the Fifth."
Sure you are...