I just turned the page on my notebook and there written in bold pen it says Mitches Dads Din Din.
No proper use of apostrophe to show possessive. Not written in my hand. Not even close to sloppy enough.
I'm not exactly sure who wrote this micro-missive.
I suppose it could have been my daughter jotting down a reminder of an upcoming dinner date.
Yet, there is an east wind blowing in Utah today, stirring my hair. And that's weird because I'm sitting in an office.
Something ominous about that note. Something that suggests I should interpret it with a cannibalistic flair.
Dude, if you're reading this and you have a son named Mitch, watch your back.
I'm good though. All I have are a Tanner and a Scott.
Notes in my notebook that I didn't write . . . eh.