No Matter Where You Go, There You Are.

A poem. There are occasions when I am so sleepy, I should not be speaking to anyone. Y' know what I mean? I could try to comment or to make a joke and have it come out completely wrong. Maybe I'm short-tempered and bored. Sometimes that leads to missteps. ----   ----   ----   ----   ----   ----   ----   ----   ----   ----

“What did James give you for Christmas?” His mother asked. “A necklace.” James told her. His father smiled conspiratorially at Marie and raised an eyebrow. “Not a ring?”