I'm feeling persecuted. Like a martyr. Except this Charles Bronson thing is creeping in. Death Wish. Vigilante justice.
Unfortunately, I talk big, but when it comes to risky behaviors, I'm more of a Walter Mitty than a Charles Bronson. Here's a good trivia question. What was his character's name? Answer: Paul Kersey. Who knew?
I've had a day. The Daddler and his favorite daughter (not me), ganged up on me. I spent 6.5 hours trying to cut through red tape, while being blamed for everything from the national deficit to the 15 wrong turns The D was sure of.
On the up-side. I got the coolest Brooks sprinting shoes (not that I ever sprint, but they weigh nothing and they're cute and half the price I'd pay at a civilian retail store with exhorbitant sales tax). We have two boxes of The D's Vella Burgundy wine for 2/3 of the civvy price. I got a great deal on D&G Light Blue. I want to asphixiate on this stuff. I bought a 12 pack of Dos Equis for $10.44. For Kiddo. Who will be 21 in July. And for the record, he'll have to wait until then to drink it. Also, for the record, The D bought all these goodies as gifts to express his appreciation for the loving-kindness shown to him by his
I'm tired. So, so, very tired...