The wife and smallest whelp are away this weekend, so it’s just me and the boys. The house has seen more orderly times. On the other hand, I’m whipping up my delectable spaghetti, we’ve got the Allman Brothers blasting, and there’s a cold Smithwick’s in my hand. Having grown tired of waiting for the spaghetti to be done (my secret and complex blend of herbs takes time to work its magic, you know), the boys have raided the pantry.
“Dad, what’s wasabi?”
“Taste it and find out.”
Don’t worry honey, even though they’re asking, I’m not going to give them any beer.
