mthor

You are.

Don't feed the troll.

Strength of mind has very little to do with it.

Yeah, it does, which is probably why she says "recovering."

Too bad that your Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome prevents you from remembering either the information or how to use Google to find it. Have another beer.

Stop diddling around. You should actually know this, because I told you what they were the last time I asked this question.

What are 2 potentially devastating side effects of quinolones?

Good to know. I like to be prepared for that kind of thing. A white cadejo won't bother the cats, will it?

And the word "neutered" comes up in conversation often enough to give you a pass on being an irresponsible pet owner?

Your memory is worse than mine, which is actually kind of scary.

I feel like that every year.

You can train the kid to take a bink - it's a matter of substituting one for another. I don't know if you're joking about the hot sauce, but if you're not, that's a pretty sadistic thing to do to an infant. Sucking is just about the only way babies have to self-soothe, whether it be on a thumb or a pacifier. . Hot sauce on a three month old's hand would be roughly equivalent to getting hit in the crotch with a taser every time you tried to fap.

And I will cower with dread. Later.

Time for a pacifier.

One day, we get a pic of your cute kiddo, then next, we get one of you fisting yourself. The variety makes my head hurt.

Maybe she just doesn't like the smell of cheap beer.

Ah, that makes sense. The math wasn't working out in my head as far as you not looking old enough.

A kiss on the wrist may be quite continental, but tasers are a girl's best friend...

Wait, whoa - I believe that it's possible for you to be a great aunt. Not particularly likely, but possible. But a great grand aunt? I call bullshit.

It's more fun to ignore him. It makes him cry.

Mid to late 30's? I'm just guessing by how old my youngest sister was when my granddaughter was born, but then again, she's 12 years younger than I am.

During the winter, some friends and I go to the diner in town for breakfast every Sunday. Back in the 40's and 50's, my grandmother owned the place, so, even though she sold it well before I was born, there's kind of a family connection to the place. And now, after years of Sundays, we've reached "regular" status - the waitresses all know what we usually order. It's the better side of small town living.

Hey! It's not the worst combination in the world.