O-kay! After my previous post’s embarrassing all-out confession about being single, let’s go somewhere light and fluffy.
It’s a fresh Sunday morning here in our household and the weather is actually cool. (Wait until noon. That’s when it feels like we’re in an oven. Now I know how Hansel and Gretel felt.) I had to wake up well before six because Adam just caught and killed a bird. And my poor father, too gentle for such a nightmarish scenario, woke me up and told me the news. And because I grew up with boys and pretty much adapted their “I am tough and the world isn’t.” mentality, I yanked myself out of bed, marched over to that lovable cat from hell and cleaned up the mess he made.
After taking care of Adam and waiting for breakfast to be cooked (our housekeeper takes care of that; I’m hopeless in the kitchen but I reckon I can bake rather than actually cook), I suddenly remember it’s Easter Sunday. It’s Easter Sunday and I was woken up because of a dead bird.
Happy Easter, everyone!
credit: Warm ‘n Fuzzy