Russian Collision
Dad here; last night I heard a terrible sound, the herking yerk of a canine who had evidently indulged in too much of a bovine diet. Not wishing my foot to discover the gelatinous mass at a later date and in the dark, I levitated out of the bed and into a pair of Adidas warm up pants. One fluid motion, never touching the floor in transit, a triple axle pirouette guaranteed to get a…