Oh, the joys of tax season!
Taka, who was remarkably amiable this whole year, locked himself in his office (that also doubles as our bedroom). At my questions and requests, he simply growls some incoherent replies, and I hurriedly leave him alone.
Sonny had a dubious pleasure to miss refilling the printer's toner. His dad turned it into a "great" (and long-winded) "teaching opportunity". He is just not the same man, when it comes to money or anything that can threaten the influx of thereof!
Time to time, he runs out to ask me a question. I don't mind questions; it's with the manner in which he demands the answers that I have a trouble! He doesn't even wait to make sure that I am listening to him: just garbles something out in an ogreish tone of voice. Woe to me, if I can't comprehend what he said right away! He spits and hisses like a cat and runs back into his kingdom of computers, who, unlike myself, understand and accept him completely.
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