The little brother is occupied with the occupying task of selling popcorn for Scouts. This causes me much amusement. He's really quite adorable in his Scout suit. I'm sure he'll have made a killing by the time he gets back.
Which brings me to my topic: I was hungry. I wanted a sandwich. I was too lazy to make it for myself. I wrote in unfluent sentences with made-up words like "unfluent". So, I did what any normal person would do: I went to my mom. Except that she was with Peter, accompanying him as ordered by Ye Old Boy Scout Manual.
So, I trekked into the neighborhood to look for them. Unfortunately, my neighborhood is not a straight line. It has trees and swerves and cul-de-sacs. Finding people you are looking for is not easy. Finding people you are not looking for IS easy.
Evidently, all my neighbors had made a decision to go out and stand in their yards. This appalled me, because I felt that they were staring at me. I wasn't doing anything queer. . . except, maybe, ya know, twisting my head around rapidly, walking in circles, muttering to myself, and glaring at everything. Yeah. . .
. . . then I fast-walked home. . .
. . . only to find that my friend with whom I have been trying to get in touch with for a month had called. When I frantically called her back, she reported that she was trying to cut a nickel with a pair of scissors. Needless to say, I gently and regretfully ended the conversation.
Then my dad came home, but when I asked him to please please please make me a sandwich, he replied "I'm off to see where Peter has gotten to."
I shall make my own sandwich.
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