Mar 072011

I found a stash of self-portraits on my phone that Chooch had snapped, featuring nothing more than his bare legs, a collection large enough to fill an entire coffee table book for lovers of nude limbs.

Too good to pass up.

I was going to write something along the lines of “content” today but then I spent all morning making a mix CD instead, which wins every time.

Oh well.

While reading this, I hope you could hear my total monotone in your head.

I have a bit of the malaise glaze.

ETA: This just happened:

I asked Chooch (whose legs are still unclothed) if he wants me to put anything in particular on the mix CD I’m making for Kaitlin, and he said, “Yes. A heart.” Which would have made for a really sweet story to tell everyone if only he hadn’t tacked on, “Or daddy’s furry weener.” (He is determined to alert the masses of the existence of his dad’s furry weener, by the way. Henry is thrilled by this.)

Say it don't spray it.

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