Earlier at dinner, The Boy announced that he would be the father tonight, and Bryan should play the role of the son.  It was a running joke for a little bit, but as most jokes, was forgotten in a matter of a half hour.

Ironically, the boys are in the pirate room now, playing some football game on GameCube.  Bryan is growing increasingly frustrated at the game, and The Boy just told him, “It’s just a game, Dad.  Just a game.  You sound like you’re getting mad, and it’s just a game.”

I think they’re still role playing.

Ah ha!  Everyone I knew was groaning over this movie, while it was making me drool.  And I have been avenged.

Last night, I had the most humbling experience of seeing someone who has been an authority figure since I was a child.  While I was buying wine.  And pregnant.

And I tried not to care, because there’s a chance that SHE didn’t care, but in my head, all I could think was, “She is totally gonna pray for me when she reaches her car.”

I wondered how many Hail Marys a glass of wine while pregnant would earn me.  Because I would’ve gladly done them while sipping the singular glass of white merlot that I enjoyed last night.  But I’ll admit it: the entire time I sipped, I wondered if I should be feeling guilty.  And then there’s the guilt for NOT feeling guilty.  Parenthood is a bitch.

In other news, it’s frickin’ hot here in the south.  The temperature was 102 when I walked to my car yesterday.  You realize exactly how hot 102 is when you walk into your house to find it blissfully cold at the temperature of 79.  You realize how hot 102 is when the low that night is 80.  And it makes for some major sweating in places you didn’t realize contained sweat glands.  Like your breasts.  Or your ass.  Yes, 102 is hot.  And sexy.