The Happy-Haps

This is them. Now with pictures

april pools

This is the story.

Of a man named Brady.

Well, not really. It’s more about a pool. In fact, I don’t think I know anyone named Brady. I did once, but technically we didn’t “know know” each other. I think his mom knew my mom for some reason or other, and at some point the name got tossed out and I heard it. Of course, at that point, he wasn’t in what most people would consider “man” stage yet. He was maybe two years older than me. But even that is irrelevant, considering that the original man named Brady was actually named Mike. Brady was his last name, not his first. I can’t say that I’ve ever known anyone with the last name Brady. That’s not to say that there aren’t stories about men named Brady, or men with the last name Brady, or even just men. But the story that I’m telling today has nothing to do with any of those things.

Okay, I suppose that technically, some men are involved in the story. But certainly no Bradys of either variety.

mustang

Yeah, I drove mom’s Mustang to work today, because they’re pouring concrete for the pool and Dad didn’t want it getting touched. Since the driveway was out and parking in the road is potentially dangerous, I sacrificed my fantastic little ‘96 Celica to the street and wrangled the ‘Stang to work.

Everyday I’m rustling.

How to Weigh a Life

(Lousy attempt at song reference, readygo.)

Guess I could’ve said “How to Fail at Write”, but that’s a stretch.

Been a bit, hasn’t it?