Things to love: being a parent

14 Mar

At midnight, I retired to my obscenely comfortable bed to hear rustling outside. Slipping down a branch to my window was a teeny ringtail possum trying to pry through the flyscreen into my bedroom (naturally, it was a possum who knew quality. And the aroma of Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes). I reached under the covers and grabbed my weapon, handily left in the bed by the Seagull and quickly scared off the possum.

Those who might have a spy camera in my bedroom (which provides as much, but not more, entertainment than a repeat of Donohue circa 1983) would have noticed me fling open the covers, grab a harmonica and give it a damn big toot before settling into bed again.

Welcome to what passes for normal in my life.

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