Will Tomorrow Ever Come? Part Deux.

Photo courtesy of: www.thecartoonists.ca

If you answered the later, then you suffer from the same affliction that I have, you Sadomasochist. Heh.

More like, DAMN it that I am going to be wasting spending foregoing that much money just to miss the ending.  I mean. Have I ever really seen the whole thing, from beginning to end?!  I couldn’t remember.

Vitamin B shot, seat 3 in the balcony, please.

I personally felt as though I had a vendetta’s against those damn know-it-all informative, elderly women ushers.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Here is comes, our first complaint, I thought.

“It’s OK.  We have grandchildren. Really. They are doing good.”

Insert sigh of relief here.

And as my children, and I, simultaneously SHUSHED each other.  I hate the copycat game.  I visually imagined Easty pooping her underwear and making plans for after the inevitable event occurred. I would just dump (no pun intended) her undies and tights into the trash after the show and call it a casualty of Annie.

No dumping, of any kind, actually happened.  Although we had to live through squirmy monkeys sliding up and down, on and off their seats, for the rest of the show. We survived.

As we left our vapour trail, I kept thinking of the Man. Lucky bugger. It’s like he had foreseen it.

Then after we had all lil’ monkees securely buckled, he called on the UConnect.

Hi. So, how did it go?

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