And now, apparently, we have trust issues.

Maybe, just maybe, we’re not meant to be fully lit, full time.

Forty-five years into this gig, and I finally feel like I know(ish) how to take care of my face.

Pretty sure we’re only fueling the dramatic antics, around here.

She wedged herself between us, putting a hand on each of our shoulders and proceeded to say something so inappropriate, confrontational, and self-serving, that our mouths dropped.

New day, new month. Begin again.