Overreact? Don't be silly

Dave'e managed to get pretty far along with the fence; I'm talking about a gate and some leveling off of posts to work with yet. It's awesome.

And between you and me and him when he reads this tomorrow, I'm pretty surprised. I mean, we've been working on our kitchen for like, seven months now. All that's been done? Well, it's green. And in a fit of "we don't have time for this," he put on the new hardware on the cabinets and drawers.

Like I said we should do.

When we moved in.

But that was a dumb idea then. Of course.

Anyhow. Moving on.

The fence. It's almost done. That means I'm precious few days away from letting Big outside and not worrying about him running down the street again, like he did Saturday, leaving me to scream "BIG STOP" and having a mild heart attack when a car drove by and he took off for the corner, four houses down.

Children cowered in fear of my screaming. A coworker was cowering in fear of my screaming, standing in the driveway. And Dave? He was standing in the driveway with a couple cucumbers in his hand saying, Oh, these? Our neighbor gave them to us! Wasn't that nice?

Later, he said, "What, you overreact. How was I supposed to know it was for real this time?"

"I do not overreact," I said. "There was a car coming."

"Hm. I didn't see it."

It was blue. You guys. I don't overreact. I just happen to think that the car was going to speed up when it saw Mr. Big, jump up on the sidewalk and make Big really small and pancake-like while screaming "That's 50 points, baby!" out their window.

That is not overreacting. It's Oshkosh Vice, the video game. In my front yard.