...ow. My heart.

Today has been... odd.

The dogs fought this morning, but no one called the boy or me to help out.

Mums and I were discussing today's Dear Abby in which a father is ticked that his daughter's fiance didn't call and give him a "heads up" even though the father requested such a thing. Mums agreed and said uncool and that Ryan had spoken to her.

*deliberately blond fishing* : About what? The weather?
Mumsy: About you. And marriage. And if he could talk to your father. About the same.
*narrowly avoids scalding hot water on fingers*: Oh. Well. I hope Maine eats him. It hasn't yet, but hey, it took awhile for it to try and take out Stephen King...

Mums had hinted to such things in the past, but never flat out said it was more than a general, "so. I can move down here and you guys won't make use of the big sprawling lawn out back to dispose of the body?"

Well. Good to know.