Ten.One Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-One
Friiiiday.
The warmth of the morning light.
He starts trying to break eggs, but he has no shirt on and has a pair of socks stuck underneath his armpit. I tell him to put his shirt on first before he starts cooking.
He’s still shoeless, stuffing bits of scrambled egg between slices of bacon.
I yell at everyone to get out of the house and then realize I’m still going to be the last one in the car because I can’t find my keys.
The font.
I ask him if there’s any way I can get around paying for shipping since, technically, the P.O. Box is right here. He charges me the media rate and then walks the package over to the shelf.
Balloons and sparkling wine and DIY flower arrangements. A good way to end a Friday
I tell her that there will be more. That I am trying to find ways to bring some joy back into my life.
It’s almost time.
