The Problem with Promises

Just when you think everything's all honkey dorey, the liver lizard creepy crawls into the car and mama panda has to go off and drop the F-bomb on her own cubs.

"Remind me to never f--- promise anything again," mama panda seeths into the backseat.

Mama panda actually didn't promise anything because even she knows that promises are paper thin when you never know what comes next, inside or out. But to baby pandas who were told to bring their swimsuits because they were going swimming with friends, well, I suppose that looks like a promise.

Lots of yelling back and forth. Tired ten-year-old. Parents who are not altogether there in terms of constructing a logical sequence of problem solving methods that involve strategically diffusing emotions gone wild. Little Donald Rumsfeld mostly puddles up in the crossfire and so we cuddle in the backseat after parking. Raining outside, of course. Isn't it always raining in the dark when everything goes down the drain?

So, there you go with a little Saturday night special. Melodrama for the masses. Live and let liver rule your lives. Ruining all the fun all the time, as some of the baby pandas would say.

See y'all after 12 hours of sleep. Time to get the penquin pajamas back out. T