The children sleep. Sapped by sun and water and joy. And we sit around the crackling, hearing stories of sixth grade glory and Dundalk bullies. Night's soundtrack pours from the Hock Shop speakers, sporadic bursts of three part harmonies when a song pleases...and somewhere between Skydiggers and Bon Jovi she leans over, "He reads your blog while he's pooping."
And they all laugh.
But I'm not sure what to think. It could be one of two things. Either my writing stinks up the place so bad that you can only read it in the bathroom. OR, it's so good he can't stand to put it down long enough to go to the bathroom...
Either way, I've never heard that one before.
And now, even as I'm typing this, guess what I'm picturing?
.....yeah, it might be wrecked for me now.
Best stories or Best reading is "Bathroom Readers". Must be a good thing?? ..... Right???? Lol.. I read your blog all the time!!! Just saying!!!!
ReplyDeleteHa! Thanks, Heidi! Hopefully not in the bathroom though...
ReplyDeleteYou forgot to add that those Hock Shop speakers were so great that they landed not 1 but 2 noise complaints! Good thing the cop found the air guitaring amusing ;)
ReplyDeletedefinitely an important detail!
ReplyDelete