Fun with Fourthborn

One of the things I miss about marriage to the children's father, is our extended wordplay. It wasn't a matter of one-upmanship. No, we would build upon the other's contributions, great soaring spun-sugar jengas alight with wit and affection. Thankfully, Fourthborn has inherited her father's gift. It works best when we are both a little tired and loopy, as we were Tuesday night when I was taking her home.

We were vaguely hungry, notwithstanding a light dinner at Bueno and a shared brownie at Starbucks. So we detoured to Arby's for a junior roast beef sandwich (me) and a junior cheddar bacon sandwich (her). This turned into as scenic route as one can find after sundown. We crossed a street called Endicott, and I started to say, "Endicott? Epcot's slightly snooty older brother?" But she leaped on the first word and offered, "Begindecott?" After which we finished the last bites of our sandwiches simultaneously, and I mused, "Synchronized chewing?" To which she responded, "Better than synchronized other stuff ... but you're past that." Yeah. Six women in the house, all sync'd to either Firstborn or me. Maybe it's no wonder that their father retreated into talk radio.

A little later we spotted a clinic where the southern end of a park used to be: TMI Sports Medicine, which led to, "How did this happen? woah woah woah! [warding gesture] Don't tell me!"

Which pretty much guaranteed helpless laughter until I dropped her off.

I've finished the second volume in the Heroes of Olympus series. I love that Iris has semi-retired to a New Age shop called ROFL with inedible health food cupcakes. And that Amazon is run by real Amazons. I haven't worked on The Albatross all night, but I will go put in 15 or 20 minutes before calling it quits.

But first I need to look up Dyak black nickel modular needles. Night, y'all.