
At any rate, if you're one of those people who can resist hyperlinks and not click through like immediately whenever you find one, then it might be news to you that East Side has a big old garden out back where they grow a great deal of what they serve. We went for a walk after the meal.
And then, you know, we had to drive back home. Again, impossible not to heed the call of Gah! when we hit the parking lot and let her behind the wheel, though, as you might expect, while that's still the primary focus, we've progressed to by now being almost equally concerned with messing with the lights/blinkers/stereo and always always and without fail, switching the A/C over to full-on heat, which is a little trick that only really works maybe two months out of the year down here. Suck it, New York! Anyway, point of the story is, lately, when we're trying to move from one activity to the next with grace and dignity and something less than the absolute fury of a tyrant usurped, then we drop the One More, as in "one more cookie and then that's all" or "one more minute drawing and then you've really got to get in that bath." Well, it took her maybe a day or two to turn that one around and now everything's One More, and she says it and shakes her index finger at you, and there's really nothing you can do. The funny part is that I'm positive she has no conception of the concept of "one," the phrase just means "a little bit longer" to her because she will drop three or maybe four One Mores on you, if you let her, not sure what the record is. I never let her take me to five, can tell you that. But here she is after driving back from East Side and a couple of minutes already behind the wheel, shaking that finger at me and campaigning for just a little bit longer.
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