I was a little under the weather for a couple of days, and Nick offered to bring me lunch while Brandi was away at services for Nanny's memorial in Huntingdon. "Go easy on my stomach," I tell him. He brings home this deep-fried chicken sandwich, the size of my fist, with 3/4" of mac-and-cheese on it, smothered in cheese sauce and pickles. It was good tasting, but I felt like I was committing the sin of gluttony just looking at it. He's made four visits to the Wing Snob since it opened nearby, they probably have his photo hanging in the lobby already.
He and I went to see the new Naked Gun film for an evening of mind-numbing distraction, and it worked. Except that the young kid serving popcorn was so out of control with his butter that I had it all over my cup, up my elbows, on my shirt, it was a greasy disaster. These young people have a much more lackadaisical approach to everything. Nick massacres an envelope when he gets mail, I feel sorry for the mail, it looks like a rabid dog opened it.
We are prepared to move him into school mid-August. Kimberley picked him up a small set of dishes for his dorm. We went to pick them up one morning after breakfast, and while he's good conversation, his pick-up lines are rough. "You smell like Coke," he says when he hugs her, as she'd just had a shower and it was probably soap or something.
Brandi and I got up to the DSO to see them on a hot rainy evening at the Meadowbrook Amphitheater, which was nice as we were under the structure up front. Around all of the family events and school prep, that was our only date night.
We had a day where Grandpa was feeling rather strong and swam with Nick in celebration of turning 84. It's impossible to get a photo of them both smiling as those are such rare occurrences independently, so this photo here is close enough.
