I was somewhat jesting with myself. It was gambling the riverboat gambler I am. I had hoped he would hold off until 9 PM which is normal, but he was ready to get home from a long day at work.
Well, here comes Papa in his black Honda driving up the street as soon as I wiped off my milkstache. I sighed and shook my head as I said an ugly word, son of a biscuit eater. I should have known better. There must be some kind of universal law of the universe that controls these kinds of things. Murphy's?
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