When Did I Turn 100 Years Old?

Something creeped up the drain in the sink of the half-bath by the kitchen this week. I peered tentatively into the drain pipe, which should’ve been dark and empty, but which was instead teeming with milky, glistening bean sprouts.

Jack, it seems, planted the beans from a school art project into the drain, atop the five mechanical pencils he shoehorned into the drain earlier. They sprouted. Apparently the drain pipe of the half-bath off the kitchen is a fertile spot for beans to sprout and grow.

Our house, the Petri dish.

I noticed this week that Charlie insists on wearing socks with his Crocs, a double fashion foible. But considering the Actual Issues of Great Magnitude we have faced regarding The Chach this week, I’m sending my concerns about Crocs with Socks directly to the round file.

Also, I told Dutch I have been languishing too much of late in the Land of Meh.

I’m uninspired.

Ennui has reared it’s yawning, boring head, before resting it heavily on my supine form.

Dutch said I need to find a new passion. “What’s your passion?” he optimistically asked.

I replied with half-lidded eyes and a gravelly voice, “Eating desserts and taking naps.”

Then I got on zappos.com and searched for “comfort sandals.”

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