All I’m sayin’s that Pictionary has some serious life lessons. This cat or whatever? Llama? No tail. Not even ears. In June, I killed at this game. February? Forget it.
Do me a favor. Bake myself a chocolate cream pie. Trudge through the fifty feet of snow to my place and mostly don’t die of the sun-depravation-induced depression.
I know, just wait.
I’ll crank the heat up to 65. We’ll put my two and a half lamps in the den, pretend we’re the sun. You’ll say, “On your marks.” We’ll devastate that pie before you hit Go, send our best to the pitchers and catchers, sail the sugar coma straight into May.