So Didgeridoo Boy had a few beers last night, a large few, and toddled off to bed like a good little soldier (literally, I thought he'd salute) in the big boy hours of the morning. Sometimes these things happen. Heck, I've done it - getting caught up in music and drinks and then whoa, damn, it is DAYLIGHT is something I'm quite familiar with. But Didge? Didge has greater endurance than anyone I've ever seen. Just before turning on his heels and marching up the stairs around brunch time, he told me to get him up at "threeeeeee THIRTY", as he had to be at work at "FOE". Okay. He needed to be up at three thirty to be at work at four. Got that.
Threeeeeee THIRTY, and I'm up the stairs telling him it's time to get up. He grumbleshouted, pursed his lips, and passed gas. The dog, who likes to nap with her daddy, hopped off the bed and trotted out of the room. As she sat in the hall, waiting, I reminded him that he had to be at work at foe, or four, rather.
"HIVE!", he said. "She'd to knee bear an hive." Great. Five.
And, miracle of miracles, the man made it. If I didn't somewhat want to put a foot up his posterior, I'd have to give him mad props.
In other news, I celebrated having my beloved little VW, Baby, fully repaired and all zippy again yesterday by blaring this as loud as I could stand for most of the drive home.
It was a *damned* good drive.
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