Nope.

Now, the threat here might seem akin to a minefield, where the field is the portion of the mattress where I sleep and the mines are tiny shards of ABS plastic with sharp corners. But the reality was a brick-built statuette of a praying mantis standing just beside the pillow where my shoulders would go. An insect famous, among other things, for eating her mate after copulation.

Her ways are subtle and unsettling.

I kind of feel for Lennon in this one. I can’t count the number of times my wife has been doing her delicious sorcery in the kitchen and dispatched me to fetch some simple thing she was missing. Like flour. And I manage to return with too much of the wrong kind of flour that I paid way too much for. She guesses she can use the entirely wrong butter I got with it.

But the muffins. Mmm.

I was recently promoted to software architect. That guy says we need better tracking and logging in our half-year comic production workflow. Rub some JIRA on it and see if the problem goes away. We might be able to get another trial license to test with if we use a different email address. I don’t want to take this expense to the PM until we’ve got proof-of-concept. I know she’s just going to ask why this takes us so long.

Maybe she’s got a fucking point there.

Ja.

PS: It’s been so long since I’ve done this I forgot how to automatically inject the bloody paragraph tags into the post.

Can’t even threaten to tickle his older brother anymore. He just starts punching and kicking at full force. While I might have a few dozen pounds on him is all the soft, kick-and-punchable kind. We have a saying in our family for when rough housing goes wrong: “Not mad just hurt.” So while I know I’m not allowed to be upset when I intimate that I might be considering poking him and subsequently lose a tooth, I would argue that it’s a disproportionate response.

Kid don’t suffer tickles no more.

Ja.