It’s about to storm.
Big. Loud.
The kids are breaking markers.
Grandparents like to indulge.
Parents do not.
The dog is eating a stuffed bunny.
I’m out of Calgon.
No wine sales on Sundays.
I wish I knew Morse Code.
I’d signal for a white chocolate mocha.
And a hot Italian boy to feed me biscotti.
S-O-S, suckers!
The end.
I’m sorry.
