Today is George Washington’s birthday.
It’s also National Margarita Day.
Is there a connection?
I don’t recall the history books mentioning that George drank margaritas.
Although, after a hard day of crossing the Delaware, a Margarita would have been a nice touch.
It froze overnight.
Not in a picturesque, Christmas-card sort of way.
Just in a very cold way.
The Grown Son lives farther north.
He got a good snowfall.
Not enough to make a snowman, though.
He was only able to make a very small snow mutant.
This concludes the winter of 2020.
I’m ready for spring.
My coffee maker died.
On the same day that my car wouldn’t start.
This could have been a tragedy.
But my mother taught me some useful household skills.
I don’t need no stinkin’ coffee maker.
I made a pot of coffee on the stovetop.
And then called a tow truck.
No lives were lost.
I love my Grown Sons.
I love them more than life itself.
They are my pride and joy.
My reason for living.
But every now and then…
Every now and then I’d like to punch them in the throat.
The Grown Son complained that there is no food in the house.
And he is starving.
I corrected him.
There is plenty of food in the house.
It’s just not ready to eat.
It’s in the form of ingredients.
And it needs to be cooked.
He’s moving out to his own apartment this week.
He is going to starve.