And If You Don’t Know What I Was About To Say . . . GOOD!

This morning my son, giggling his head off, burst into my room.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“I’m knocking on my mom’s door, then running away before she can see me there,” he answered.

“Ah,” I said.  “That game.  When I was a kid they used to call it n–”  I stopped myself abruptly.

“Man, I had a messed up childhood,” I announced to no one in particular.


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