A.C. texts me: "I am trapped in a rocking chair with sleeping kids on me, in case you were wondering. I can't reach the remote, or my magazine."
"Need rescue? Call 911?" I send back.
"No. I am bored out of my skull, and burning up in a sweater. There is a heating pad behind me, it's on high, but I can't reach the control. And my dog just passed gas."
And just like that, my sink of dirty dishes seemed much less annoying.
No comments:
Post a Comment