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Restaurant Bliss

I’d say tonight’s dinner at the pizza place came out all right.

That is,

if we don’t count the time our son, the one who marched in with green flip flops raised his toes to his sister’s face and said, “smell this.”  Or the fact that our son ate each bite of his pizza dipped in ketchup, or that he hefted his shirt above his head to show anyone looking how full his belly was.

Everything went great…

if we forget the moment our son lunged for his sister’s pen, came up short, but wiped out a water glass instead, a water glass that soaked a set of car keys, one purse, all the condiments and most of the wall.  And–if we omit from memory our son’s announcement that he was wearing no underwear.  None at all.

Hard to top a night that works like clockwork.


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