This weekend was another tournament with the Montgomery Cheetahs hockey team. Combine that with having his birthday party made it a long and busy weekend for the little guy. He was up late Friday night with a hockey game, and again Saterday night for his birthday party. He's apparently inherited the dairy-farmer genes I carry and was up before six both mornings. By Sunday morning, if you put one of the extras from The Walking Dead on skates you'll get an idea of how he was playing.
After the game was time for a breakfast out as a special treat. He's a real toast fiend, so we naturally ordered an extra order of toast. Unfortunately, when it comes to buttering restaurant toast, I have a significant deficiency. My hands tend to run cold.
I mean really cold. Like touching someone's torso is a form of corporal punishment cold. Holding one of those hard little foil-wrapped pats of restaurant butter in my palm for hours has no effect. If anything, they get harder.
Fortunately, coming fresh from the hockey rink meant I was wearing my new long sleeve Cheetahs T-shirt. I grabbed a handful of pats and stuffed them up my sleeve. By the time the toast came they were nice and soft.
Fast forward a few days to when I'm doing laundry.
I guess I missed one. No wonder the cats were so friendly the rest of the day.