by T. Gene Davis
“Dad, I’m feeding the skeleton in the closet.”
My seven-year-old daughter stated this. She wasn’t asking permission. I had to sit up in my arm chair and set down my Kindle.
“Really?”
“Yes. He likes donuts.”
“Dad, I’m feeding the skeleton in the closet.”
My seven-year-old daughter stated this. She wasn’t asking permission. I had to sit up in my arm chair and set down my Kindle.
“Really?”
“Yes. He likes donuts.”