I still like that song, so fuck you.
And I am, indeed, alone again. Naturally. Well, except for the two malignant midgets currently soaking up harmful TV rays downstairs. Yep, the wife has left me.
She'll be back some time Sunday, but still...geez, I'm gonna have to do stuff. And stuff.
She bugged out with three girlfriends (well, old broads, who worship the ground the wife walks on) to drive to a completely different state, and party and Praise God with a host of other broads. And there's dancing. It all freaks me out. Go, honey, get that nutty shit out of your system.
I can get Nat to serve breakfast and lunch (cereal, and samwiches) but I have to come up with dinner. And help them perform all of their bed-time rituals. And pray with them. And stuff.
Johnny has already come screaming in pain upstairs, because while adjusting his glasses on his nose, he stuck his own thumb in his very own eye. So I had to be comforting. And wipe away tears. And help him blow his nose. And he is fine, now, but...