the couch

Hairy man, dressed in one-month old mammoth skin, sitting on most comfortable rock spots equally hairy woman dressed in the latest sabre-tooth skin dress walking by. He get nice feeling and beneath the hairy mammoth skin, hairy snake rises.

“Ooooga moooga?” He asks his fellow hairy man.

“Mooga oo oo ooooo!!” His pal replies and smacks his lips.

Hairy man, lifts his crude weapon. (The Swahili and every Kenyan in general calls it a rungu) They still had not discovered smooth…well…ehee…

He approaches the so-to-speak sexy woman from an angle.

Woman blushes red.

He whacks her on the head.

Woman gushes red.

Mr. Man (they didn’t know how to speak so clearly they couldn’t give names) grabs ’sexy’ mama by the hair. Luckily for our Mr. Man, the women were yet to discover salons ama kuna vile huyo msee would never have been able to grab any normal blooded woman’s hair like that. Anyway, he grabs her, by the hair, and drags the love-struck and club-struck woman to his cave and declares…

OOOGA!

 

1800 AD

My great great great great great great great great (etc) grandfather (one ‘great’ is coz he was indeed a great fellow) is chilling with his boys, on a comfortable rock, dressed in fresh goat-skin taking care of the herd. (Sample the dogs that always follow him around). He’s a ka-young fellow and clearly they are the village handies (runs in the family).

Shortly they hear sweet angelic voices as the village damsels waltz their way to the river giggling and laughing.

“Great-to-the-power-of-ten” grand zakes and his boys look through the bushes and spy the most beautiful chicks ever. They get inspired and aroused (I would too if I espied a topless girl), but “great-power-ten” grand zakes reacts quickest. While the others are deciding on who to grab for who, my rela has huko rukad mapema mapema and gone and grabbed the most beautiful one of them all.

He carries her on his shoulders and quickly runs home. He bursts into his fathe’s house and declares…

WIFE!

 

2008 - the year of the Lord and the year of smarter, more tactful fellows, except…

…except this buffoon who is sitting on his comfortable stool, not rock, at a bar sipping on his tanye (ehem, Tusker) and talking to his boys. In walks this fly arse mama (in our company). Him and his boys are er…excited. So instead of this jamaa swinging and sambaza-ing his lyrics like every modern man, he opts for the “traditional” approach.

This is his plan…

There’s a road trip out of town which we (including fly-arse) have pangad. Then apparently buffoon, who is a friend of our friend, decides he’s also coming. Over a few pints our idiot pal and fly-arse get conversing…but jamaa bado hasn’t angushad lines.

Anyway, come weekend and safari goes without a hitch and we reach destination town where we link up with…our pal and buffoon. It gets dark and buffoon, okay, I’ll call him Jack…but I hope you will appreciate the tact of not calling him JERK!….so Jack runs off and starts booking rooms for us. He doesn’t know our sleeping arrangement (since anyway we did comewith fly-arse in the same ride)….but he’s decided he’s smarter.

Since he can’t katia (lyric assault) this mama, he decides to force her to sleep in his room. How? He books one room less hoping since the mama will have nowhere to sleep she will ‘join’ him.

I know it’s 2008. I was surprised too.

What Jack forgot was that, this chick was in her home area. Anajuana na kila mtu mpaka bar-maid, hawezi kosa place ya kulala. (argh, she knows everyone in that town including the barmaid, so she can’t miss a place to sleep) So Jack as we all know slept solo and his pals all declared in unison…

KABANG!

But really, I thought this style of getting a chiley to sleep with you went out of fashion.

Aw well, barbarians never die.

 

*kabang - means in a nutshell, he never got any.

I’m feeling mathogothanio. Nothing to do with the heart and soul.

I’m feeling unmotivated. Everything to do with heart and soul.

I’m in the blogger bog.

I don’t feel like thinking. Saving on brain mileage.

I’m feeling like the Kenyan politicians….NOTHING!

I’m bored out of my wits. Which is strange coz I’m without.

I’m bila vibe. Marto has gone AWOL on me. AWOL for Marto means he is behaving. I think he got himself a gal. SHARE THE LOVE BRO!

Even the comics I read to unwind aren’t helping. Maybe they will help you.

*point to note* I’m not depressed. I’m just not motivated.

 

ENJOY!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAVE A GREAT LABOUR WEEKEND!

This is a post I tried avoiding but Sybella and Valentia (shaking fist…LOL!) insisted….SAAAAWAAA!

FOUR JOBS I HAVE WORKED

1. Teacher (who taught for 5 minutes)
2. Copywriter
3. Editor (of the first and only estate magazine)
4. Artist/painter/designer for hire

FOUR MOVIES I WOULD WATCH OVER AND OVER

1. Shrek (I know it word for word)
2. Ratatouille (I’ve never loved a rat - Marto doesn’t count - like I love this one)
3. Shawshank Redemption
4. The Prestige, Snatch, Cars

FOUR PLACES I HAVE LIVED

Since I haven’t left the country long enough to ‘live’…
1. Limuru
2. Wangige
3. Kibera
4. Nairobi West
…na bado!

FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE

1. The Pretender
2. Hustle
3. My name is Earl
4. (okay, I’m not big on TV series’)

FOUR PLACES I HAVE BEEN ON VACATION

1. Mombasa
2. Kampala
3. Dar
4. Towns around Kenya…many more to go

FOUR OF MY FAVOURITE FOODS

1. Not pumpkin
2. Not cooked bananas…though the fried ones in UG were awesome
3. Kenchic chicken…only when I’m from a rave.
4. I very well eat anything…except 1 and especially 1

FOUR PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE NOW

1: With her (no link…and, don’t bother mousing over)
2: Not in the office definitely
3: Not home either
4: Anywhere I’ve never been

Then the creative Tandra went and did a different one (shaking fist)….YIKES….

FOUR JOBS I WOULD LOVE TO WORK!

1. Journalist
2. Trucker - Seriously, not coz of the pay, but coz of the ‘touring’. Hmmm, i don’t think then I’d ever get any deliveries done.
3. UN, or even Red Cross
4. A jobo where my money is now working for me…payback time.

FOUR MOVIES I WOULD LOVE TO DIRECT
All four, and however many more, will have to be my own obviously.

waiiit instead… FOUR PEOPLE/STEREOTYPES I WOULD WRITE OUT OF THE SCRIPT

1. The African, Chinese or whoever who insists on being in my movie but since I can’t pay him, I have to kill him early in the movie.
2. The silly characters who even in the eye of danger are still ‘filming’ and doing silly things unnatural. So clearly Cloverfield would never have happened if it was on my watch. I mean honestly, you’re under attack but you are holding the camera and still shooting, and he ain’t the reporter or anything. WTF?
3. Steven Siegel and all the freaking rappers who try to act with or without him.
4. Woody Allen, I don’t know. I don’t hate him, just guys don’t like him, so why not join them. heheheheh….

PLACES I WOULD LOOOVE LOOOOOVE TO LIVE OR AT LEAST VISIT

1. Jamaica. Stereotypical curiosity.
2. The French or English countryside. The green vastness calls out to me. France I added to the list coz of Ratatouille. Hey blame the rat…
3. Japan. No idea why. Maybe just so that everyday my neighbour Nokosodi Kumamoto (and others) can make my day by just introducing himself.
4. Switzerland. Just coz she said it was a nice place.

FOUR TV SHOWS/ SERIES I’D LOVE TO BE ON THE SET FOR

Jeez Tandra, what the?

1. Friends
2. Scrubs

Eish, after being on sets for ads, I know it’s a tiring and tedious process…so please just show me the finished product….wait…

3. Cobra Squad - I just want to know how exactly they got away with such bad acting. Was the director asleep? Juiced? You know what, for this one, don’t even show me the finished product.

4. Porn flick - I want to see how the cameramen and sound guys, er, hold it down.

FOUR PLACES I WOULD LIKE TO GO ON VACATION

1. Italy
2. Egypt, via the Nile
3. Any town in Kenya, I’ve never been to…just so that I can club like crazy since no one knows me…so is that really a vacation
4. Pack up my Land Rover and just explore, (with pals, but mostly with the ‘one who loves going’)

Actually for me, anywhere I’ve never been before is good enough.

FOUR FOODS I WOULD KILL TO LEARN TO COOK

Okay, this is…I mean, why would I want to kill anyone, and so that I can learn to COOK?

Now who to tag…crap, hate this bit too. haiya, betty, phassie, archie, bomseh, 1nt3ll1g3n514! shucks 1nt3l has already been tagged…so what say you gish?

…find music playing and a-dancing they would go. Or so they thought.

European: Just 10 seconds is all I ask. 10 seconds so I can enter into this junguz head (not the one at kachoi or the one at buffet park) to see, or hear, what the HELL he was dancing to. It wasn’t the drum beat, or the bass guitar. It sure as hell wasn’t the lyrics, or at least, the cacophony.

China man: Tell me Mr Shaolin (ex shaolin at that) what were you doing? This guy was dancing slow-motion (to a fast track). His hands were apart and he was swaying aka floating, plus pulling the matrix moves of dodging bullets but he wain’t dodging jack. He was crouching like a tiger, at times holding his hidden dragon.

Indian: Haiya, now this guy was a classic. Vot vas he thinking yeah? He voz dancing like he voz boxing in some rat ready to kill it only. In this case the rat was his ‘chick’. He was moving his ‘kushoto na kulia’ hands ‘mbele na nyuma’ not letting the chick move left or right. Then of course he began sweating. Aaaand what does this MF decide to do? Remove his F shirt. LORD! Even the bouncer had to prod him with a long stick coz of the STINK! Dandora garbage site has nothing on him. He was a weapon of mass stink.

Somali: Dancing in the shower is allowed but please, please, PLEASE no ’showering’ on the dance floor. The chick should have told him to leave the self-exploration, self-cleaning to when in shower. But he was dancing alone. No points for guessing why.

Kenyan: Now the Kenyan, dear ol’ Kenyan male. Now honestly, I agree with ladies, Kenyan men are the worst dancers especially when drunk. Picture this, there was his chick who had nice, er, ‘goods’ and she was dancing like she’s straight off a Lil John video (YEEEEAAAAH!) Man, she was shaking it like a salt shaker, but our Kenyan guy (like many I know…don’t usually know myself when drunk so I’m not here) kept pulling her behind to his crotch area and simulating a ‘doggy-style’, hence messing with her un-choreographed moves. And spoiling entertainment for use ‘alone’ dudes. “Dude, she can dance, you can’t.” Yo, move get out tha’ way…

What a night! And…

I’m not talking about the ladies. Well they didn’t disappoint. I was feasting my eyes on dress codes out of Paris and Milan catwalks, some from lunar and looney catwalks. Even saw one dressed as a mboch.

And…

I’m not even talking about the dude who looked like he’d call on ‘mwaura‘ any time. And he did. Or the 60-somthing sikh “seeking a companion to rock his ‘archaic’ world.” Or his son (they looked like it) who were tempted to touch, but only started touching when ol’ man sikh was overcome by temptation and ‘touched’ the mboch.

Or the ‘loose’ nut desperate for a ‘driver’ to screw her ‘tight’ who believed we were from America (jeez ever heard a shrabber wenging), who wasn’t “on the dance froo mbicoz I haven’t risten to a song I ryk” and wanted us to “mbuy me a brack ice”. It was hard to keep a straight face pretending not to understand which drink this is that was ‘brack’.

I had a great night. If you’re ever bored and need to jazz up your evening, go to Mad House, F1. Alone or with buddies. Never with your chick!

 

Glossary (this is for you, yes you Sybella)

mboch - house girl

mwaura - puke/vomit

shrabber - someone who ‘L’ is ‘R’ and ‘R’ is ‘L’. (ara-ero)

wenging - tweng

 

“If anyone has any objection as to why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace.”

 

A nervous Marto doesn’t even bother to look behind. He’s expecting objections.

 

An amused pastor cranes his neck over Marto’s shoulder. He’s expecting objections too.

 

An excited congregation looks around. They too are expecting objections.

 

Thankfully, sadly, and disappointedly (sic), respectively, there are none.

 

Why?

 

Marto, the pastor, and the congregation had spotted many of his old flames very much alight, glowing with eagerness to mess things up. What they didn’t know was that Marto had friends he could count on to hold things down when the storm blew in. And I mean ‘hold things down’.

 

(the rewind sound effect, screech or anything that depicts a ’say what’ moment.)

 

Erm, I know, owing to the people who I know are going “HUH! MARTO MARRIED?” I need to clarify something.

 

MARTO ISN’T, HASN’T, WE THINK WON’T, GET MARRIED!

 

The reason, he has too many dames. Not dames he is chatting up, dames he has never really, never REALLY told it’s over. Marto explains….

 

“How can I tell them it’s over if it never really began? We are just friends.”

 

But they don’t think so…

 

“Shauri yao”

 

So if Marto ever decides to meet that Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Princess with or without the pea, Snow White, the beautiful Nyakeo or whoever else he thinks they can live happily ever after with, the church would have more drama than when (insert hunky Mexican dude’s name) catches (insert name of sexy Mexican babe, who the soap is named) in bed with (insert name of the hunkier but bitter rival of first hunky dude). Ladies, please do the honours.

 

That will be unless his boys hold down the forte. And I mean ‘hold down’.

 

You see, we are sure that all and I mean, all his flames, the distinguished and the extinguished, will be there. And where will we be? Right next to them. Marto that day won’t have a line-up.

 

The Best Man will be seated on aisle 3 next to Shiro. The grooms men will be in Aisle 5, 8, the back bench next to Eileen*, Mariam* and Shiro Nakamura. And Linda* will be in the ladies, er, washroom, locked in. Others will be discovering a little too late that they are in the wrong church at the wrong wedding. Others will still be waiting for the wedding day.

 

Marto has confused many.

 

(Back to “…speak now or forever hold your peace/piece.”)

 

When the pastor looks over Marto’s shaking shoulder, and if he pays close attention, he will notice, three or four ladies in the congregation fidgeting and looking nervously at the guy sitting next to each. The guys on the other hand will be stone-faced and unlike the congregation, will be the only ones not looking around.

 

This is how it will work…

 

The guy seating next to the potential wedding wrecker will, at the moment the pastor says “…hold your peace”, with all his might and all means necessarily as coolly, calmly and discreetly hold down the chick. She will think she’s been superglued to the seat (that’s my strategy), then the guy will issue a chilling threat in his most scary voice ever.

 

“Jaribu uone!”

 

or

 

“I know where your cat lives!”

 

This takes care of any verbal protests she may decide to employ. I will gag mine, or better yet, plant a nice one on the lips. Hey any means necessary.

 

And the pastor will insist…

 

“Anyone?”

 

Not a soul. Stir they will but raise they will not.

 

“Going once, going twice…”

 

Not a voice. Just squeaks from the benches with the ladies.

 

“(Disappointed) I now pronounce you, Mr and Mrs Marto.”

 

And we shall all rise, clap, ululate, throw rice (and nasty glances from the chicks), happily. Suddenly, Marto’s line-up would reappear. Though some of the groomsmen will need some re-grooming.

 

So Marto, if you decide to get married, MWAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH….oops sorry,

 

…if you decide to get married, we’ll hold down the forte. And I mean ‘hold down’.

 

*names have been changed for security purposes, Marto’s. And sitting arrangements and where who will be, who will be locked in or who will be at the wrong venue may change on the actual day, but Best Man will get Shiro, she’s a handful and he has big hands.

The slow ones like me were in the cafeteria feasting on ‘nuts’, the fast ones were on the track burning each other out and the fit ones were in the gym out-lifting each other when it becomes ‘hot’. Chaos is the middle name that describes the moment. Excitement is the other.

 

“MEN!” shouted the commander above the excitement. “The moment of truth is here. It’s been a while, many months actually before we saw some action. The last batch that went out before you tried to do this battalion proud, but they didn’t get far. At least not as far as they had hoped. Today men, it’s your turn I’m not promising you much either. You may or may not make it, but if you do___”

 

The crowd was alive and surged forth.

 

“HEY! Aaaargh! Crap. Have to cut this speech short. AGAIN! Damn, this always happens. My speeches never last more than a minute.”

 

The guys at the back are in a hurry. The guys at the front have already gone. In a few excited seconds we are all in the escape shaft swimming for the exit. Whatever is out there won’t know what is coming. Or will it?

 

The guys in front collide with something. And we all come crashing on top of them. The shaft is closed. But by what? We can see outside but we can’t get there. So here we are, a million-plus of us. Stranded. Trapped. Locked in yet outside.

 

“Well men,” says the commander. “same as usual. Dead end.”

 

Everyone is understandably upset. We can’t go forth. And we can’t go back. We can never go back. We knew once you left the duplex apartment, that was it, there was no turning back. Like kamikaze pilots.

 

Sniff.

 

Something doesn’t smell right. Smells fishy actually.

 

Hey. We are moving again. Pouring one after the other into some velvety openness. We are free!

 

“Men, it’s a miracle. But I warn you, they won’t be happy. Do your thing. First one there is…”

 

No one is listening to him but we all know the drill. It is first come, first service.

 

We are now in this great vastness. Somehow I can’t help but feel I’m in heaven. Some kind of Valhalla. It is warm. And thanks to my amazement with the current surroundings everyone passes me on their way to the prize.

 

I awake from my daydream. I swim as fast as I can to to try and catch up with the guys. I manage to catch and pass a few guys. Then it’s over. Just like that. No more swimming.

 

Of course I wasn’t first, didn’t expect to be, but this whole situation, which I now understand, has me smiling. Has me laughing. I am still laughing when I see many dejected fast and fit guys walk past with their heads held low in shame.

 

“I should have won”, “It was mine.”, “I actually saw it.”, “I almost touched it.” and so on, is all they can mumble. Someone has beaten them to the prize. Someone was faster. Someone was fitter. I didn’t really care to know who it was. All I know, one of us has done it. Reached his, and everyone else’s, goal.

 

I am happy.

 

Happy to explore this new environment.

 

Happy to know I won’t stay here for long. It smelt of fish.

 

Happy because we had broken through.

 

Happy that in 9 months everyone would know, for sure, we broke through.

 

——————

 

Soooooo, question, what happens when the condom breaks.

Note: This is not my story.

It’s been a while since I sat on the couch and released…It’s not a rant, let’s call it my moment of randomness, or better yet just curiosity about stuff. So please explain to me like I’m a two year old…

 

• How does Chelsea lose it’s first match in sijui gazillion matches, then they start asking the coach if he can really make use of the expensive talent he has? Just one match? Inquiries, commissions are being called in left right and centre. Soon they may even investigate that soft helmet Peter Cech wears on his head. So what about kina Liverpool who even the coach only talks big after the match? Archer? Note: Sipendi Chelsea.

 

• Kenyans are the most courteous fellows I know. Excusing themselves here and there, asking politely, saying thank you, very welcoming, but what happens when they get behind the steering wheel? And these days do cars come with a dictionary of colourful cuss words and rude remarks as standard feature?

 

• How does the ATM at a bank not work, and it’s banking hours, yet the one hukooooooooo in the forest is fully operational? And why only at the end of the month?

 

• Why is it that if things go wrong, it’s you; but if they go right, it’s not you?

 

• When did the creative department in an agency become the least important? Why are shoved huko in the darkest corner (oh maybe coz we are the brightest yet without it they are just a bunch of tea-drinking fellows with no creative way to outdo the competition?

 

• Why do people go through people’s stuff without their permission? What do they hope to achieve? And what happens when they find something? How will that bhangi you found rolled up in my bag help you yet you won’t smoke it?

 

• On the same note, why the crap do guys go through people’s phones and chokora stuff that is none of their business? You start chatting and abusing people’s friends? Do you get extra bonga points if you do?

 

• Why oh why do people take those paos I have so stressfully saved in that make shift piggy bank for future use? Si they just ask and they will be given?

 

(okay, i was boiling a little there…sip of Vodo and i’m easy)

 

• Explain to me, why is it easier to believe a lie? I mean the lie sounds so so amazingly ridiculous, but yet we choose to believe it (i’m guilty here) yet the truth is the hardest to drive home. Classic example, the Bible.

 

• Why do matatu touts ask the darnest (sic) questions? He would be at the door loudly and proudly shouting above the cacophony that is the music within that fare to a certain destination is 30 bob, so you enter, you give him 50 bob and what does he ask, “wawili?” Or you are alighting there, yes there, then he asks “hapa?”

 

• Explain salvation to me. Not to bash on to the saved ones, but why are the old school ’savers’ so harsh, yaani mpaka you feel you don’t want salvation? Then, doesn’t “thou shalt not steal” apply to others? Yet, they claim to be saved. What happened to WWJD (what would Jesus do)?

 

Finally…

 

• Why do people feel wajuaji when they come to the office and ask for me using the wrong name, yet iI told them what name to use? Then they get surprised (and upset) when they are told hatujui kitu kama hiyo?

 

And an anti-rant…

 

I did a survey (Steadman, ain’t got s**t on me) and I found something not quite disturbing. It is expected. Of the many that were polled, many (read all) said if they were given a chance to beat me, they would. Kidogo tu. Raila can I borrow your clumsy security?

Yet again, chako is in the mix. So prettylyf went on and tagged me. Ata mimi nilitoa kaexpose huku, lakini si this one is for the six nonsense, non-significant things/habits/quirks about me (as though this and this wasn’t nonsense enough)…and quite appropriately I’m reading Mr. Nonsense from the Mr Men children’s collection. Remember them?

 

The Rules:

- Link to the person that tagged you.

- Post the rules on your blog.

- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.

- Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.

- Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website

 

One: It’s hard for me to wear shirts bila a teeshirt inside.

 

Two: For the longest I had the toy Andy Capp with me everywhere I went. He was resident in my pocket until he turned blue. And I doubt that was because of the many blue biros.

 

Three: I buy stuff I need but then never use. I have lipbalm…and still dry lips; I have gum…that’s unchewed (sic) for a month; I have pairs upon pairs of shoes of which I only where one; I have a brain….enough said.

 

Four: I have a habit of not remembering movie characters while watching the movie. So if I ask you who Jason is while watching Bourne whichever usijali.

 

Five: I don’t pass the same route twice within 30 minutes. With my hair I dare not.

 

Six: Every morning I boil water for ogaing only during the news sessions. “Classic FM news with Celtel” (boil session one), “Classic FM business news” (boil session two), “Classic FM sport with GTV” (boil session three)…yep I boil three kettles.

 

And I stretch my e-hand and tag,

Valentia (tell us what nonsense goes on on that street of yours, and you’re new to this anyway)

Phassie (umenyamaza sana, what nonsense from aphaaa?)

3N (but I need 6 this time, 6 nonsenses)

Aegeus (oh yeah, what nonsense?)

FarmGal (shambani kuna nonsense gani?)

Crystal Balls (make your nonsense crystal clear)

 

…shauri yenu! Anyone want gum?

 

When I opened my eyes for the very first time

When I wailed in the middle of the night

When I was hungry and in need of love

I’d be a statistic if you weren’t

 

You were there…

With a cane/belt/slap when I was naughty

With a smile during the cane/belt/slap

With a joke after the cane/belt/slap

I’d be in a bad group if you weren’t

 

You were there…

To teach me life’s lessons

To hold my hand when I needed it

To show me what’s right and wrong

I’d be in jail or dead if you weren’t

 

You were there…

To help me with my homework

To correct my mistakes

To point me in the right direction

I’d be a carpenter if you weren’t.

 

You were not there…

To see me dress not like my brother

To see my hair grow and grow and grow

To see me make almost a mess of my life

I’m glad you weren’t.

 

You were not there

When I graduated

When I found my first love

When I came home that evening

But I’m here because you were.

 

You will be proud…

To know I’m not in jail

To know I’m an artist in my own right

To know after much effort I did get my life together

..and I do look great in the long hair.

 

It was today, 12 years ago, when you answered the Lord’s vacancy ad for an angel.  Today I remember the joy and laughs we had together, and the PAINS i had. And as I continue doing you proud, living life to the fullest I  know you will wear that beautiful smile as you tell your fellow angels…

 

THAT’S MY SON!