Last night, we had dinner at Lloyd's boss' house with some other people from his squadron. As we were driving there, Weston kept talking about going to the corner. We couldn't figure out what he meant and he was getting very frustrated with us. Finally he said, "You know, the CORNER! Daddy's boss!"
The Colonel's house is lovely. There are delicate, costly Asian art objects on every flat surface. A flight of steep tile stairs. A flighty, spindly-legged expensive looking cat. And a hot glue gun on the dining room floor. No visible grenades or strychnine, so maybe they put the dangerous things away in preparation for our visit.
I probably don't need to tell you that the Colonel and his wife don't have any children. They are very kind and kept saying, "Oh, don't worry, they're fine," as I chased them around with a terrified expression on my face. Believe me when I say they were not fine. If I so much as blinked, we would have all been knee deep in blood, cat fur and shards of glass. Finally, blessedly, Shane started getting tired, and really wailing, so I could haul him out of there and take him home. Lloyd and Weston came home later with a carload of leftovers, so we have been eating yummy party snacks all day. Weston is almost ready for bed, but he wanted one more snack: "You know, the brownies from the Corner's house!"
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