Good morning, world. We’re up, and everyone’s enjoying open doorways and kibble. Both cats allowed us to sleep in, surprisingly. I think that’s the first time Pod hasn’t come on to the bed to show us his impression of a NASCAR race.
We were sloths yesterday. I didn’t get dressed. Shawshank put real pants on, as he had to leave the house. I dyed my hair. I had just slapped a handful of red dye on my head when I heard the familiar sounds of “The Dragonborn Comes” on the TV. Every fiber of my being pinged with happiness hearing Shawshank load up Skyrim. At the same time, my brain was at the top of the pyramid screaming YOU WILL NOT TELL HIM HOW TO PLAY!
By the time I came out of the bathroom with the color on my hair, he was in a dungeon. I happily sat around with a plastic bag on my head, providing the same service he does when he watches me play: watching his health, reminding him to heal, and pointing out enemies. After a couple of hours, he’d pleased the bards’ college and set things on fire. I rinsed my hair and he gave me the controller. I emptied my packs and headed out to do one of my favorite quests, The Break of Dawn. I played until it was time for dinner.
Today is The Puttering. The laundry is in the washer, and Shawshank is tidying. We’re going over to Shady Acres for Mother’s Day. We bought her edibles.
