Smirk

Dear You,

I call today Shakespeare. A tragedy and comedy all rolled up in one. Work was good, for once. Isn’t it funny that the moneymaker is an okay place to be?
I came home to the crib. Or not. I think Papa tried and untried a gazillion times. He finally gave up claiming fatigue. I can’t blame him. He banged your mother on the head with a power drill (she’s fine). We’ll try again tomorrow.
I was accused of trying to burn the house down. See, it’s like this. I wanted to use the smoker again. Turkey burgers done up in hickory and homemade barbecue. Doesn’t that sound good? No standing in front of the fridge eating cottage cheese from the container; pickles from the jar; fingers sticky and cold. I wanted a real meal complete with baked beans and cheddar cheese. The smoker, well, it smokes. Your dad wanted to know why the smoke detector didn’t go off…oops…busted. He shook a finger at me and I swear I heard a tsk, tsk in there.
Indy is still crying. She claims you left her for Maggie. I told her I didn’t think she was your type but still she carries on.
Me, even though it’s only 9pm I’m going to bed. I’ve discovered diagonal isn’t that bad. I don’t ditch the sheet either.
Tell Johnny I think his queso story is bunk and that Chipotle still rules the planet. Hang onto that cell phone and call soon.
love, me