The exercise:
Hey, remember when we used to do unfavorable comparisons? Vaguely? Yeah, it's been a long time.
So let's fix that. Click here for some examples if you need them, otherwise let's get straight to the fun.
Kat had another counselling client this morning, so I took Max and Miles into town for a walk/bike ride along the lake. Miles hadn't had his nap yet, which I figured meant we'd have to get back home as soon as Kat was done to get him to sleep, but he hung in there long enough for his big brother to play at the park for a little while.
This afternoon we were back at Max's soccer class, this time with Kat and Miles to watch since his nap times allowed them to be there this week. He quite liked that, as I'm sure you could imagine.
Doing a family trip up to Penticton tomorrow to run some errands. Fingers crossed that all goes well.
Mine:
The chef's specialty, you ask? Well, he keeps the recipe secret, but after tasting it I would assume that there's some untreated sewage water in there somewhere.
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They said it was going to be a political debate. It was more like two three year olds fighting. After not sleeping or eating for two days. But, like, right before they went on stage someone gave each of them a Slurpee.
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Saying he punches like a girl is an insult to girls. He punches more like a two day old puppy.
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Her taste in movies can best be described as a dog's taste for its own... hey, where are you going? Too much? Well, I can't help it if it's the truth...
2 comments:
That sounds like quite a fun day out for you, not too stressful and the kids sound like they weren't a lot of hassle to manage. How full was the soccer class? Is it still being made interesting by the kids unable to follow instructions consistently?
Haha, I remember the unfavourable comparisons, and you've added a bumper crop to them this time round! I like them all, but I think I'm going to order them in preference as 1, 3, 4 and 2. But 1 is definitely my favourite. Remind me never to visit that chef's restaurant....
Unfavourable comparisons
Arguing with him was like trekking through an indoor tropical forest: you got hot, sweaty and angry, you weren't allowed to use a machete, and at the end you were expected to buy things from the gift shop.
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I have more confidence in asking the fourteen-year-old dairyman intern to perform open heart surgery on me than I do in her ability to send a four-line email.
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He oozed... well not charm, and not confidence. And not competence either. Or consideration. Or co-operation, or collaboration or conspiratorial good humour. He oozed. Period.
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Her dance performance was worth paying to see: she had the grace of a giraffe with polio, the svelteness and skin-texture of a hippo, the athleticism of a stoned koala and the instinctive choreography of the Venus de Milo.
Greg - there's like 12 or so kids in the class now. And yeah... the coach almost kicked one of the kids out of class because he wasn't listening. At all. Good times!
Hah! I can't choose between your third and your fourth as my favorite. They're both so, so great :D
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