It's been a bit chilly this week. Not cold, so to say, just a bit chilly. Our routine after work has been immediate changing of clothes.
Her: Sweatshirt, Sweatpants, and thick cutesie socks.
Me: Strip down to the undershirt, throw on shorts, and finish it off with some sandals.
But we're both comfortable and happy. So whatevah!
A friend came over for the game last Sunday. He is an avid hunter, and brought us Venison Sausage. Hannah often shares her lunch with a coworker. (I pack big lunches. Not Emelio Estevez in the breakfast Club lunches, but still pretty decent.) Long story short, her coworker was not impressed with Bambi for lunch. I actually felt pretty guilty and almost grilled steaks and chicken that night to make up for it. Catholic Guilt strikes again.
I have to say people often impress me. I don't have the ability to make up a story. To spin a tale so to speak. Sure, I'm decent at rambling on about stuff I've seen, but to actually make something up and tell the story? Amazing.
Some people have the ability to spew bullshit and make up stories like it really happened. I've seen it online and I even work with a guy like this. Where do these stories come from? And how can some people tell outlandish stories that are impossible to believe, and keep a straight face? Why can't I do it? Catholic guilt strikes again? Eh, my talents lie elsewhere I guess.
So there ya have it.