Lauren Urban requested a picture of our Henry with a fried egg on his head. He was very grumbly about this one, spewing diatribe about the recession, Obama and wasted food.
“…perfectly good egg….” I heard being mumbled in the kitchen.
Blake smelled it frying and was all, “Yummy, eggies!!” but when he realized there was a good chance he’d be chowing on breakfast fare swaddled in Henry’s black locks, he decided to wait and have a clean one fried up. He waited until Henry was en route to sleepyland to ask for one.
But don’t worry! The hair-egg was not trashed because Alisha’s dog Bonzi devoured it.
In other news, it is 6:30am now and Alisha were just outside. It’s cold at 6:30am. My leg is shaking very badly and the Degrassi marathon is done-zo.
So Paul said “is she still making him do shit” and I said “yeah, theres a picture of him with a fried egg on his head, wait maybe its a tortilla, no its a fried egg”
he laughed alot and went back to sleep. He can’t take late nights like me. Now I must sneak into the other room so I can listen to you doing Andy Gibb without waking him.
Did I tell you that I referred to him (AG that is) as “a fox” when I was 5?
Anytime I make an ass of Henry, he always wonders what the men think. And I tell him, “They probably think you’re pathetic for being so whipped. And that you’re not a real man.” And then he gets all sad and I LAUGH!