Moo ya'all! Moo.

I'm getting ready for bed last night (carefully checking the sheets for vengeful kitty wet spots) when Harry calls to check in from the Lonestar state.

"Hello?" I say.

"Hiiiiiiii!"  He's happy. "I'm at an 'All-you-can-eat' meat buffet!" Well.  That explains it. 

"Well - you have fun.  Make sure to eat at least a peice of lettuce for ruffage," I caution him.  

"Naw! That'll take up room!  Oh - gotta go - they're putting out MORE MEAT!"  He hung up and rushed off to eat another herd of cattle.

I go about the rest of my routine, changing clothes, brushing teeth, washing off the liquid eye-liner that sticks to my eye lids like an "underage" stamp at a local bar when my phone rings again.

"I ate some lettuce for you," Harry says.  He's proud.  I hate to burst his bubble. Wait - no I don't.  I live for it.

"One peice doesn't count," I remind him.  

"I ate two!"

"Okay."

"And some taters."

"Okay."

I found out that he got back to his room, bloated and happy around 12:30 AM.  I guess time flies when you are up to your eyeballs in cow innards.