My inner child hardened into a goiter that I had removed last year.
Pretending to be busy is pretty hard work. Is that irony? No work, and no irony, for you today.
You can have my drink when you pry it from my cold wet hand. Also, please don’t.
I think there’s something wrong with my thyroid. Or my spleen, whichever makes me fat. Pancreas?
You’re never too old to have a miss-spent youth.
The only thing more precious than the sound of children is when they’re not making any noise at all.
So…I’m waiting in line to buy an alarming amount of beer, and I realize you and I haven’t talked in a while. I wonder what made me think of you.
We put the “Boom!” in “Boomer!” Also the “ouch!” and the “yawwn!” and the “where the hell did I put my keys?!”
Are we too old to try new things? I hope so.
Your love has kept me from becoming a rogue outlaw, living on my motorcycle, and bar fighting for money. Well, your love and my generally squishy disposition. But mostly your love.