Harumph.

Another gray and cold morning, wherein I get out of bed and Jack dashes hopefully to my running shoes and looks at me - Mom, are we going to go outside and jog?

Alas, pupster, no. We are going to have cofffee and do pushups, and you're not much help with either.

The Evil Corporate Masters are holding the Annual Holiday Party this evening, and we have all been expressly instructed to act responsibly. I suppose that rules out tequila shots and gunfire, so I don't know why I agreed to attend.