And there are two smashed eggs, one on my sidewalk, and one on my grass. Ooooooohhhhh, children, look! The naughty big kids are COMPOSTING OUR LAWN FOR US. And also, lookey here: they were kind enough to only get paint on the windows! What a considerate bunch of gas holes they are.
Miss O coined the term Gas Hole today, and no, it's not because I was saying the curse word that RHYMES with Gas Hole. Because I wasn't. Really. There were a few certain children in my home this morning who were letting loose and feeling fine, and those verysame children were tired of the correct anatomical names (and humourous names) for keister, so they set out to create some of their own. Gas Hole was the clear winner.
Because? Farts are funny, and any body part that can be named after a fart, especially the one that does the farting? Is a winner.
I know this does not empower my children, exactly, but we just may run out of oil and we just may need to rely on the Gas Hole for the power to run our world.
I'm just saying.
It's still that stupid Halloween here, and The Mister is out prowling the yard for Gas Holes. Someday, I'll tell you about the spectacular entertainment we had last Halloween. It was nicey. I'm going to bed, because it's stupid o'clock and I have to get up to go to work at even stupider o'clock.
One final thought: It would be funny if the Gas Hole(s) came around again when the Under Porch Skunk was out and they got sprayed. Funny and convenient.