S'more

Please, Sir... can I have S'more?

OK, we had a bit of an accident this afternoon.

Kelly and I went out running errands after church. I had a bunch of stuff to drop off at the thrift store, and then, seeing as I was there already, we poked around, and there had just been a metric butt-load of books donated, so I had to go through them, and buy a bunch of $0.69 books... apparently because bringing home 42 books that were culled from the library last week just weren't ENOUGH juvie novels for me.

And then, seeing as we were in that neck of the woods, I took Kelly to Dairy Queen for lunch. Just a girly-lunch of trans fat and french fries dipped in mayo.

Yes, the diet starts TOMORROW!

And then, seeing as Petco was JUST NEXT DOOR, we stopped in there for a little promenade to walk off some of the fatty lunch.

...

I knew it was dangerous to go shopping when hungry.

I thought it was safe to go shopping when I was NOT hungry.

Apparently not.

Meet S'more.

As in "Can I have s'more?"

"Doesn't she look like a graham cracker and a marshmallow?"

"Soon we will have S'more hamster babies."