So after small group, Miranda and I took the girls and our babysitter (that would be Gunter… check out the comments to various posts… she visits DW.com) to McDonald’s for a quick bite. The kids were already up past their bedtime, so we had to do something that wouldn’t take forever.
As we sat there eating, Miranda began to harass me about watching Battlestar Galactica on my iPod.
“I can’t help it! Season Three just began, and I am only part of the way through Season Two! The episode I watched today was good… really dark… the Cylons stole Starbuck’s ovaries…”
I am not always great at reading the looks that Miranda gives me, but I am fairly certain that the one she gave me then was not “You have never been more attractive to me than you are right now.” In fact, if I had to bet, I would wager a month’s salary that it was closer to “Dear God in Heaven, please protect my children from the complete and utter dweeb that is their father. Allow them to take after me… please.”
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