Please don't dare me:
Last night I had to prove I was small enough to crawl under the dining room table without moving the chairs, while Tater and Dillon stood in the kitchen laughing their asses off.
It completely freaked out the dog and he ran around and around in circles, barking and growling. "What's Mommy doing under the table? Get out, Mommy, Get out and take an anti-psychotic!"
So I did. (Get out. Not take an anti-psychotic, though I am not denying it might do some good...)
And I won!
...The right to be smug...
...And the knowledge that I need to vacuum under the table
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