That’s what *I* did with my Friday night.

I read a fabulous book called Raz-a-taz, which is about a curious little goat, and most certainly is NOT Raz-ma-taz, which you can google for yourself because I don’t want to link to it in my blog.

At the end of my babysitting stint, I was told that every time I go there, the older of the two little precious blondies tells his mom and dad that he doesn’t like me, until the morning after, when he remembers that he does.



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