Happy Thanksgiving

Zero hour approaches. Time to clean up somewhat and head out to Hopkins for Thanksgiving dinner with the Watsons. We bring the rolls from Baker's Wife. Each one has a half a stick of butter in it.

The wind is howling and it's 14 degrees and I sure the heck hope you're not freezing your ass off in some thin-asses school clothes. I'm mixing in a little Carhartt and a warm hat because that car is chilly chilly chilly.

I can hear Tom Brady carving up Detroit in the other room so it's time for a Triple S-er (Wroblewski boys understand) and then chow time.