The Oldest Son is theoretically going to play a baseball game in half an hour or so. 
Beneath this sky, I’m pretty dubious that it’s going to actually happen. The odds, however, of me making a mad dash for the car among a pack of other scurrying, middle-aged parents sometime in the ensuing hour is looking pretty rock-solid.
Hopefully your Tuesday evening plans are looking a bit less threatened. Either way, here’s to keeping your powder and your bald spot dry, no matter what you’ve got going on.
And, uh, and if anyone has a towel I could maybe borrow, that’d be pretty sweet.
Pud’n
Puddintopia 