Last night I dreamed that a big rotten potato named Ireland and a beautiful flower called America were fighting over me.
I had to ask her if she had read that somewhere else--where she had gotten the idea--and she said that she made it up, but her teacher said to use their imaginations and they could talk about dreams to express different thoughts.
Maybe she'll help her old mom along in a few years and convince her agent to sign me on and give me a shot.
In the interest of equal time, I am also quite proud of Kyle. This go-round with the runny nose, he has learned to sniff it in to solve that snot problem.