I have not posted of late owing to the scourge of some sort of, for lack of a better word, crud that has in turn struck down Red Haired Girl, yours truly, and now Real Wife. Fever, chest congestion, nasal congestion, nausea, more fever, diahrea – we got it all. Real Wife (now upstairs in bed with a barf bucket nearby), a fourth grade teacher, reports that last Thursday saw a 25% absentee rate amongst her class. For my part I missed three days with a temp. running 102-103 deg., but seem to be back in the saddle now. To think that it was 78 and sunny just two weeks ago.

Red Haired Girl has completely recovered, but now presents an entirely new challenge. A boy called the other night to just … talk. This is a first. I have been put on notice by Real Wife that she is bound by secrecy and cannot provide further details, but I have been able to learn through other sources that he (a new boy in the community), and she danced together at a recent 6th grade gala event. There is not enough bandwidth on the entire internet or capacity on the Daily Brief servers to fully communicate the range of emotions this has caused in me. A friend of mine, seeing my angst, pointed out that when his son was born 29 years ago, his father observed that the advantage of having a son over a daughter is that with a son you only have to worry about one pr*ck, but with a daughter you have to worry about them all (thanks Hutch). The good in all of this seems to be that she is, all of the sudden, acting older (no tearful temper tantrums during horn/piano practice time, offering to do household chores, etc.). But why do I believe deep down that alligator tears and stomping feet represented the good old days? BTW, can I get GPS tracking information from a cell phone fed to me in real time…

Radar