Shawna just posed a question to me that I now must pose to the public at large. It’s not quite funny how we got there. You see, when I am in the midst of one of my headaches, Shawna has decided that I am roughly the equivalent of a three-year-old. I talk funny, I spill things, I have a lot of dangerous accidents, that kind of thing. And my ability to make sense and reason definitely drops to that three-year-old level. Now that we’ve returned to sunny southern Cali, it’s become pretty apparent that something in the air here, or the water or both, is not at all good for my head. That sucks, because we have to stay here until our lease is up, which means I can prepare myself for five more months of foggy-headedness. Ah, thank God for the government and their lax policies which allow large corporations to poison our food supply. (It’s not a conspiracy theory, people. It’s fact!) And just know this… afternoon headaches have kept me from working on fan fic two days this week! Newsflash: It’s only Tuesday.

*Riley grumbles and throws her hands in the air*

Anyway, the point is this. Shawna said it was a good thing we weren’t both three-year-olds. Then she said this –

“Can you imagine two three-year-olds trying to take care of each other?”

Think about that for a second. I mean, really think about it.

Now, tell me you didn’t just feel a violent shiver down your spine.

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