Well it was a lovely Thanksgiving. Cooking, not cooking, burning myself and shooing cats off the doggone table. Brandishing a knife didn't matter at all. It was just me, my Mom, and my son Andy. We ate turkey and mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes and ... oh ... halfway through dinner I had a thought and asked "Andy, are you wearing pants?" I saw the corner of his mouth curl up just a bit - no reply other than "um..."
Yeah. My son came to the Thanksgiving table in his boxers. And I didn't notice. I guess that's just the way we roll.
[Insert picture here of me shaking my head.]
What are you gonna do?