For the first official day of summer vacation, s’mores seemed like a perfect fit (see what I did there?), even though, in all honesty, I have never been a big s’mores fan. No, seriously, I’m neither a monster not a communist. I dig graham crackers and chocolate just fine, but marshmallows are just not my thing. S’mores, meanwhile, are, like, 70% marshmallow.
Smoky, though, could care less about my feelings on the subject of marshmallows. Or summer for that matter. As far as he’s concerned, it’s evening and I’m in the recliner, and that means nothing except, of course, it’s time to play. Preferably with the hollowed out fabric remains of a once-stuffed bear.
Somebody ought to give that poor bear a s’mores.