Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye.

My son is now at the age where he can finally fend for himself against the attacks of most of the locally grown gap toothed varietals.
Daddy's time. Yesterday at the playground, I was able to read right through, literally from cover to uninterrupted cover, including all the classifieds, an old copy of Giantess Magazine.

Lately most of my leisure time is ill spent, religiously gazing at this tiny little man at the bottom of The Pit. He's been fervently, almost fetishically, daubing hand mixed masonry product between the massive steel columns. Like Sister Wendy having a Ferris Bueller Moment, I'm frozen, transfixed in front of "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte", it's been that kind of life affirming week to say the least.







As someone who finds diastematics quite pleasing to the eye, I never understood why spoil sport dentists couldn't leave things better off alone. " The absence of enamel is unashamedly lustful!"

Architecturally speaking, 257 years ago, in a prior life, might I have preferred a chinked log cabin over a chinckless one?

"Arguably the greatest scene from the greatest movie ever made..."