Holy son-of-a-maraca!!
I typed a bunch of stuff, typed verses from a Roy Orbison song, talked about my handsome son at Indiana University and my National Honor Society daughter in high school, how handsome and beautiful they are (respectively), how much money I contributed to their Coverdell college funds, how several women have told me: "Any kid you father, Paul, will be good-looking," about having one more beautiful child, just to realize ("realise" if you're you or Sweet @AthenA) that I timed out.
Sigh.
What I typed was eloquent and beautiful.
I have a "management position" job interview in about 10 hours, bud, gotta go beddy-bye.
(Roy Orbison): "In dreams . . ., I walk . . . with you . . . In dreams . . ., I talk . . . to you . . . In dreams, you're mine . . . all of the time, in dreams, in dreams . . ."
Not you, Sweet Sir Run D.M.C., them--those beautiful, professional, amicable, humorous, game-laying, and willing ladies of child-bearing age.
Crikey.
I'm not gonna type all the stuff I typed again.
Lol.
Good night.
Ayaq