I keep pretending that one day I'll write about something profound. But I prefer to keep my caffeinated inner monologue inner for now and talk about my husband threatening himself with a flying object.
The Pater Familias guffawed with surprise and delight when he opened his birthday present from my sister and brother-in-law. Most of us give him practical presents because, in my case at least, we have no imagination. But this was a one-of-a-kind special for a man with one year left in his 20s. We finally loaded it up with non-expired batteries and tromped down to our neighborhood field neighbor's lawn, which feels kind of public because it's not fenced, to try it out. (We hadn't read page 2 of the directions yet.)
Finally I turned to page 2 of the directions (in my defense, that was the first time I'd looked at them). It stated in exceedingly clear Engrish to only fly it inside, away from even a powerful air conditioner. We left the blisteringly hot, windy, blindingly sunny field behind.