Or: Why my wife is just the best.

Today, after church, I arrived at the area that my family convenes in prior to our exfiltration to the van. B, who is child 5 and has a personality the size of a continent, ran toward me excitedly brandishing a shamrock he had received in his kids’ Sunday School class.

The shamrock glittered and shone like the sweaty, fevered face of a diseased demon. It was covered in that wicked contagion called glitter.

As you can no doubt imagine, I threw myself backward...