And then you say, “Where’s my bourbon?”
One of those days. Misbehaving kid. Misbehaving electrician. Work piling up.
You get it. You know.
So those days come and you say… Whatever.
So you fill your kid’s lunch box with buttery mashed potatoes. And aged gouda.
And then you sort of give up.
And you ask, “Where’s my damn bourbon?”
So you toss in some pumpkin cannoli. Not because he deserves it, but because you don’t care.
And you ask, “Is it wrong to drink bourbon at 8 a.m.?”
So you toss in some penuche fudge pie topped with vanilla custard. And you don’t care that it slops into the container. Again, not because he deserves it.
Because… Well, you get it.