“Oooof!” I gasped. “Easy there, Ollie. Uncle Clark doesn’t feel so good.” I gently moved the toddler away from me so I could sit up and hold my stomach.
I wasn’t going in my pants but my breadbasket was still super tender. “Thought you didn’t get hangovers, Clark,” my wife teased.
“I’m also running on maybe four hours of sleep,” I countered. “And it’s not a hangover. I just…uh…”
“Go poop.”
I stood up. “Alright. Alright.”
“Round three oughta be up by the time you’re out,” Irene called over.
A flush and a hand washing later, sweet delicious bacon was crunching between my teeth. I was sitting upright, hunched over my plate like a dog guarding its bone. So good. In between bites I looked to the T.V.