My son is at a party right now. Bounce houses. Pizza. Bowling. He's going to return sweaty and dirty. His hair will be plastered to his skull. His shirt will be wringing wet. And he will have had, in his words, "The best time EVER!"
I remember days like that from my childhood, when my biggest worry was whether I had to take a bath or not.
Saint Marty is ready for some adult fun this evening, involving alcohol and maybe breaded mushrooms.
by: Shel Silverstein
Where did you get such a dirty face,
My darling dirty-faced child?
I got it from crawling along in the dirt
And biting two buttons off Jeremy's shirt.
I got it from chewing the roots of a rose
And digging for clams in the yard with my nose.
I got it from peeking into a dark cave
And painting myself like a Navajo brave.
I got it from playing with coal in the bin
And signing my name in cement with my chin.
I got if from rolling around on the rug
And giving the horrible dog a big hug.
I got it from finding a lost silver mine
And eating sweet blackberries right off the vine.
I got it from ice cream and wrestling and tears
And from having more fun than you've had in years.