Grandma Jane came over to The Little Cottage the night we carved pumpkins.
You know what THAT means, don’t you?
Moose had to feed his fetish. Right into Grandma’s black leather satchel he plopped. Didn’t even wait for her to get her car keys out of it.
It’s time for some kind of intervention.
Varmint, used to his weirdness, just glanced away from her homework long enough to roll her eyes at him, and then turned back, and resumed her work.
It’s almost like the Little Cottage is the opposite house for ‘weirdness.’ We’ve got so much weirdness going on, it’s normal.