The Man-Cub is participating in track for the first time this year and he is especially looking forward to running the hurdles. Thanks to PTSD caused by witnessing one too many hurdle-related accidents back in the day, when I served as Middle School track manager; I am somewhat less enthusiastic about the endeavour. Fingers crossed that he doesn't injure any important body parts, like say, his mouth, wherein, $5000 worth of orthodontics now reside.
For the first time in our marriage, Hugh has failed to finish our taxes on time, resulting in us having to apply for an extension. Now, we'll probably get audited and somehow end up having to pay instead of getting a nice, fat, vacation-funding return. The stress caused by not having a vacation will lead to a horrifying incident involving Hugh, or me, running down Main Street, sans underwear, screaming at the top of our lungs about life being a giant pressure cooker. I would put the odds at 2-1 in favor of Hugh doing the actual streaking.
Your turn to shudder.
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