Masterminx

The CEO's son was in the office again. CEO goes to meetings, Megnog and I get to entertain. He's a really cute kid, 7 years old, typical boy. It's a lot less cute when you see a compressed-foam rocket being slingshot at your eye with that adorable, gap-tooth grin behind it.

When the boss's kid shoots a projectile across the room and hits you (repeatedly) in the face (or in the left breast) while you are trying to discuss the 30-day deadline for software improvements, all you can do is laugh. Laugh! Because he's such a clever child to be able to aim directly at your face from four feet away. Laugh! Because you can't throw it back at him without getting in way too much trouble. Laugh! Because you know you are never having children so you won't ever have to take home one of these little creatures and clean up after it. (Well, I won't.) Laugh, because the CEO will be done with his meeting soon and take the offender away to a hotel suite at one of the nicer resorts in town for their stay in Scottsdale--then, off to Tucson for another indeterminable stretch of time.

At least he didn't have his mean-spirited big sister with him. It agonizes me to see the way she tortures and insults him.

I do believe we have an appointment to check out the reception center where we might be having our wedding. That should give me something to write about tonight. Let's hope it satisfies our meager requirements.

[