On the very first day of summer vacation, the Little Shit struck again.
We were at my parents’ house, and Brooke, Dad, and I were taking turns push-mowing the yard. (Dad has developed an old-man obsession with the yard. His riding mower needed a new part, and he simply couldn’t wait.) So, we were all covered in grass clippings, and Brooke’s feet were green, thanks to the flip-flops she was wearing. We were relaxing on the porch, just enjoying the afternoon, and suddenly summer was shattered.