If I Had A Very Young Daughter, I Would Demand A Pre-arranged Marriage

I got out of my car in the Target parking lot today and heard a young voice say, "Hey, you know what?" I looked over, and across an open parking space was a mom and three very young children piling out of a mini-van. The oldest child, a boy, appeared to be about four years old. Maybe younger. It was this young lad who tossed the question at me.

What?
Your car is kinda....
Dirty?
Yeah, and your tires look low too.

In twelve more years, this fine young man will be not only filling his mom's car with gas for her, but he'll be checking the oil, changing the air filter, filling the windshield washer fluid, and rotating the tires.

The mom gave me an apologetic look. I felt like giving her my name and number and asking her to let me know when he opens his own service station.

Chicken Shit

Well, Chris, seeing as how you are the only one who reads this, I feel safe using a foul (ha!) word in the title. If my mother read this, I would no doubt have to substitue "manure" or "feces" or some other milder noun.

Pictured above is the giant mound of chicken manure (I just don't have it in me to be consistently crude) that I told you about in my earlier email. Truckload after truckload arrived one day to create this enormous, stinking pile. I thought once the hot weather had passed the odor would lessen, but as it turns out...a good soaking rain can do wonders to re-ignite the smell too. Thank goodness we live north of this organic pile of fertilizer; I'm sure our neighbors to the south have been omitting us from their prayers.

Hope all is well in AZ. Sorry to hear you were finally able to turn off the air conditioning.