One Boy. Twenty-Four Hours Of Mayhem.

E: Mama, I don’t like the sun.
Me: Why? Is it in your eyes?
E: No. It’s in my pants.

The high? 75 degrees. E says: It's hot. But it's chilly, too, Mama.
Where else could you stamp before saying: I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is.

And even in his sleep, he's prepared. For the neon zombie apocalypse. Or, more likely, the crab apocalypse. A fear that is sure to make going to the beach FUN.

Alex Iwashyna

Alex Iwashyna went from a B.A. in philosophy to an M.D. to a SAHM, poet and writer by 30. She spends most of her writing time on LateEnough.com, a humor blog (except when it's serious) about her husband fighting zombies, awkward attempts at friendship, and dancing like everyone is watching. She also has a soft spot for culture, politics, and rude Southern people who offend her Yankee sensibilities. She parents 2 elementary-aged children, 1 foster baby, 3 cats, and 1 puppy, who are all Southern but not rude. Yet.

6 thoughts on “One Boy. Twenty-Four Hours Of Mayhem.

  1. Love his little blue-gloved fingers holding the dandelion. Does the sun get through those, too, I wonder? Good luck with the crab apocalypse. (I hear they hate neon.) =>

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