WHAM!
WHAM BAM CRASH KLANK KERTHUNK WHAM WHAM WHAM CRASH BANG KERTHUNK THUD THUD TANG TANG TANG WHAM BANG!
"Uh. Don't worry."
Uh. Yeah. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
--
"Look, Mammy, I colour coordinate! See -- STRIPES!" Hiyukked at me by DG as he goes outside in an outfit that even Cher would turn away from.
Blue and grey rugby, sleeves cut out. Purple and teal swim trunks.
Yep. It's laundry day.
It damn well better be, because otherwise I'm calling first his mother to chew her out for not raising him better, and then the optometrist.
--
Okay.
DG blasting some Neil Sedakaish girly freakin weepy music on his computer while I'm trying to headbang over here on my dinky little laptop speakers -- then LEAVING THE HOUSE with it blasting -- is permissible grounds for Homicide in Self-Defense ... right?
RIGHT???
Work with me here, dammit.
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