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Phil’s at it again. He set up his little brewery in the garage to keep a warm. He tries to get me to sit with him by telling me it’s a cozy 50 degrees out there. I stay in the house and decide I’ll sit with him when he’s finished, inside, and drink what he’s brewed in our 50 degree garage.
Please note the crazed look in his eyes. It’s not from the propane, but the Nutty Bar he’s stuffing his face with. It’s a sickness, he can’t just eat one of these, one pack that is, it must be 3, or 4 if I don’t see him sneak off with another. I fear I’ll loose him forever to little chocolate covered peanut butter wafers.
