My wife insists that I keep blogging. Basically, whatever happens from here on in is her fault, is what I’m saying.

SCENE: A screened-in porch in the suburban-Philadelphia area. We see Daddy Scratches and Wonder Woman consuming margaritas … delicious, Cabo Wabo-tequila-filled margaritas … so delicious, in fact, that this narrator currently is fantasizing about drinking roughly a dozen of them … but I digress. Let’s listen in.

DS: My blog is dying. I don’t know what to do. I haven’t had any time for it, and, quite frankly, I’m having a hard time getting motivated to do anything with it … but I don’t know if I could just walk away from it.

WW: [incredulously] Walk away from it? You can’t walk away from it. No way. All the nights I’ve gone to bed alone or taken the kids out so you’d have time to work on it? No, you’re not walking away from it. Sorry.


Alrighty, then. Guess I’m still blogging.

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