Why I love summertime - in a word: Freezy-Pops.
Ok, one hyphenated word.
What? It counts.
Anyway, Freezy-Pops – they’re what’s for dinner.
Yeah, but it’s either that or the three thousand left over soy sauce packets I keep in the little cheese compartment in my fridge.
I know. Like they’re not going to throw another three thousand packets in the bag the next time I order take-out.
It’s always so strange - why do they give you so many?
Even more strange, why do I feel compelled to hoard them like, should a nuclear bomb strike my biggest worry will be I will suddenly become sodium deficient or something?
Time to hit the grocery store. Ya think?
In other news, it’s a sad, sad day.
My sneakers have gotten the funk.
Which means, the time has come to finally send them to the big Aromatic Cedar Shoe Rack in the sky.
It’s sad, really. No! Shut up! It is!
They’re my Chucks. I have had them many, many years. We’ve gone to many, many rock shows together. We’ve tooled the streets of many great North American cities.
And as any good chuck-wearing person, it’s mandated you wear them ‘til they are so torn and worn so thin you can feel the hot, tarred pavement through the bottom of the soles on a sultry summer day. That and well, you wear ‘em ‘til they develop their own
I know. Just say it.
You totally want to date me.