Conner, please go hang up your ski jacket.
Um, not exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking more along these lines:
After yesterday’s lunch money, bike crashing, ripped shorts, “parallel to the park” debacle, I had been hoping the rip in the shorts was small and on a seam.
Not so much.
Fairly new Quiksilver shorts, gutted like a trout. There’s no salvaging these babies.
(Also? When I came out of my room this morning I discovered that Conner was actually out of his bed. I took that as a good sign, until I realized he had simply moved to the couch and had gone back to sleep there…)