Fed up with our teasing, Grayson moved out of the house last Saturday. He pitched a tent and staked his claim on the last bit of great American frontier (the backyard) with a pirate flag and a firm slamming shut of the zippers. His anger kept him company for the first 10-minutes, but his fury cooled and left him lonely and bored, so he came back in and packed some essentials for living off the land. Like a light saber, Beanie Babies, baseball cards, and a doll "for Lucie to play with when she comes to visit." All of this hunting and gathering generated an appetite, forcing another trip over enemy lines for the quintessential wilderness meal of peanut butter toast and bananas.
All in all, the mystical wilderness utopia lasted a full 55-minutes before the sprinklers came on and there was a soggy knock on the sliding glass door. "Mom, if I move back in can we go see the Indians at the natural history museum today?" Sure, my little Davy Crockett.
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