A Pirate Just Stole’d My Socks

You ever wake up in the morning and have the remnants of a dream still lingering so close to the frontal lobe of your brain that it seems as though you could taste it with your tongue?  I had the pleasure of awaking this morn with the lingering sample of loam on my lips.
So Saturday began.  I woke up knowing from my dream several things.  1)   The local dirt was ripe and beholds a strong iron after taste  2) There would be no ride (But I was totally 100% ok with this as I was ready for a day with no ride  3) A lot of miscellaneous stuff had to get done.  Number three is what sent me in a tailspin and whose flight was only corrected by an abrupt collision into a cliff by one pirate’s party.

Otto turned four yesterday but that being a work day and not really anything more than a buzz kill I am sure for the little grom, the adults broke out their Saturday afternoon best.  Best meaning bandana’s, bad earrings, a saber or two and some eye patches to ring in the kid’s big four.  When I arrived to retrieve my junior pirates there was a nice table set forth with some leftover hotdogs, cake, and a manly size reserve of Colorado sports drinks.
Every father with kids of my age should well expect such an oasis from the horror of responsibility to arise at a four year old’s rager.  But this well took me by surprise and all I had in response was an audible and likely disturbing, “Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”  which sent me reaching full hook for a Mile High Rejuvenator.  My fate was sealed.  

Happy Birthday otto!  May you have many more.