Squirrels

There was a massacre at the dinner table tonight.

We were eating drunken noodles. The poor bastards were lying limp on the plate, when I spotted an intruder.

A water chestnut, with his accomplice, the baby corn, had tried to infiltrate the fortress of my drunken noodles and chicken.

But worry not, kind readers, I squashed the infiltrators with one foul smush of my fork.

Only when they lay in pieces upon my plate did I return to the contented munching of my unfortunate intoxicated noodles.

And before you ask if I'm five years old, may I take this moment to tell you that I'm six, actually, I'm six.

And before you also ask what the title has to do with anything, "Squirrels?" you say, "squirrels are not relevant here," I will take this next moment to tell you that they are quite relevant, because my six year old attention span seems to have reverted to that of a squirrel on this fine fall day.

Maybe it's the leaves. Who knows.

As a completely unrelated side note, my turn signal matched up perfectly with the bass drum beat of the Rise Against song that I was listening to today on my way to rehearsal.

There was a precious moment shared at that stop sign between the turn signal, the music, and I.

It was tender.