Sometimes on Saturday, after an afternoon into an evening and then another afternoon that our Dad is embroiled with several workers trying to install an elaborate new surround sound musical system that involves ladders and wires and drills and cursing, we like to escape to the quiet retreat that is the upstairs bedroom and partially cover our head with a blanket until the whole ghastly nightmare is over.
Yours In 8-Track Cassette Players,
Orville Old Fashioned
Sometimes on Saturday, after our morning is bombarded with tree trimmers and construction workers and noisy pedestrians walking to the beach, we like to take our place on our especially high perch just to make sure that everything stays in order.
Can I See Your I.D. Please?
Sergeant Silky Ears
Sometimes on Saturday, after a tummy ache interrupts our morning fun, we like to spend the rest of the day staring at our mother, knowing that as long as she is within two feet from us, we will be a-okay.
Stan Stomach Rumble
Sometimes on Saturday, after a pre-dawn walk that still smothers us with temperatures that feel suppressive, we like to spend the rest of the afternoon resting our chin on whatever surface will have it, whatever surface will hold our sweaty brow and our sweaty armpits and our sweaty nostrils until this heat wave passes.
If You Need Me I’ll Be In the Walk-In Freezer,
Dan of the Dehydrated
Sometimes on Saturday, after a luscious morning spent lounging in bed as if we were royalty, we like to spend the early afternoon noshing on our best friend Sharkey, perfecting our chew abilities and communing with our inner terrier chomp master until we become slightly faint and delirious from the pleasure of it all.