Some Sundays are made for big brunches, fishbowl mimosas, snacking on baby feet, traipsing through the Old Forest, speculating wildly about what all those lone men were doing on those secluded trails, and watching the world’s tiniest Ewok rip through the woods, dog drunk on pure joy.
Ooh, brunch and a hike through something called the Old Forest. That sounds magnificent. I might have to steal that idea when Buffalo thaws.
That is good, clean fun right there.