It’s a secret, it’s a secret.
Feel like I am getting away with something bad. Bad girl, no donut.
Any minute now the interwebz will feel my presence and crush me.
BLOODY HELL (well. that was last week.)
Little bunny, living within the film noir script, minus the crime; the detectives; the skinny black ties and custom fitted suits. My life has always required a Bogart, Bacall. It requires better use of punctuation. It, well... requires.
Watched Brick last night. A very clever film. The byproducts liked it as well.
Current household mystery: The Case of the Stomach Cramp.
For the last 48 hours my beloved offspring have been complaining of stomach cramps (somehow, together, united, this better confirms the truth of the story, one child collaborating the other child's intestinal horror stories) that are currently confining them both to the couch and well, television. No fevers, puke or anything visually confirming affliction. Symptoms are most excruciating during the hour of the morning they would normally be getting ready for school. This otherworldly pain also comes right after the end of a semester on the academic calendar (to their credit, they studied very hard for midterm exams, most likely ending up with A's and a few B's when report cards are distributed next week, go kiddos go).
Its not that I am clueless, stumbling Barney Fife. I understand there is going to be a bit of manipulation and lying on their part (a healthy part of adolescent growth), which is why I am allowing these particular cards to be dealt from under the table. My hypothesis being that if I contain the falsification within parameters I can control, for having gotten away already with the fabrication, deception occurring to them as a pathway will be greatly reduced during times when lying could potentially be harmful.
These chubby cheeked, giggly, smile hiding cherubs of deceit, keep me very busy.