Milk, Munchies, Meandering, and Muppets in a Matter of Minutes

Our manager's 5-year old knocked on the door, to come in and hang out. He proceeded to climb on the couch and pace around the living room, and added by stating quite the observation: he like heaters because they're warm. I gave him a small glass of chocolate milk, but not without requesting those magic words that were most necessary to hear first. Mom and sister came by to collect him shortly after and he said his goodbye.

About five minutes later, he opened our door, came back inside, and rushed toward me with a napkin full of bits of what appear to be cookie crisp cereal. I thanked him and he turned around to rush back home.

Guys, take note. At age 5, this is adorable. At age 15, this is acceptable. At age 25, this is awkward. So if you want to send a special treat to a special lady, grab your little nephew, cousin, or that kid who lives across the street constantly asking to play baseball, and have him do the dirty work for you. On a side note: if you're hot enough, or if you know your lady well enough, but mostly if you're hot enough, you may do this yourself. Of course, it should be noted that no matter how hot you are, you may not be able to get away with turning her couch into a jungle gym, bringing your mom and sister to her house to pick you up, or barging into her bedroom without knocking first.

And now I'm going to enjoy my cookie crisp and a Christmas song:

There's Children Throwing Snowballs Instead of Throwing Heads

The lights are strung up. The tree is bought, assembled, and adorned. The hats, jackets, thick sweaters, and scarves have been pulled from the closet. The speakers are pulsating with the familiar sounds of holiday tunes in their classic and variation forms. The big red bows, shiny ribbons, and rolls of gift wrap have been purchased. The greeting cards are sifted through and handpicked to the choice selection in preparation for the inevitable and possibly humiliating holiday picture. The scent of gingerbread fills the air, not to mention the grande sized Starbucks coffee cup. The pumpkin pies are baking in the oven, and cooling down on the counter in hopes of scraping off those burnt crust bits before serving. The price tags have been slashed to considerable amounts in the hundreds, a bargain considering the original added to nearly a thousand. The high temperatures have dropped down to a finger numbing average of 65 degrees.

The holidays must be here. And I love it.