Friday, January 21, 2011


Little bit his tongue tonight at the dinner table.  It was the kind of deep and painful bite that makes everyone at the table squint their eyes, lift their shoulders and hold their breath for a second or two.  He let out a gutteral caveman type hollar and turned six shades of crimson.  When the initial yelp wore off, I said, "that stinks . . . do you want to say a bad word?" 

He nodded yes and shouted at the top of his lungs, "GUTS!!!"

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