I would LOVE to see A. on a tractor. I mean, I would just die. Damn.
I realize this reveals -- well, something about me. I am just fine with that.
A. is in the kitchen, making dinner. He just took a swig of good, microbrew beer, and told me about the electric fence he put up a couple of weeks ago makes Star Wars-esque shooting-laser-beam-sounds. He mentioned how the other guys he works with were "horsing around on tractors and shit." I don't know. Seeing my baby in the kitchen, making dinner for me, relaxing, enjoying a beer and then my imagining him on a tractor has me, well, feeling frisky.