always put down people on government assistance programs, believing he was better than that. But tonight, after looking into Logan’s eyes and fearing there might come a time when he couldn’t put food in his belly…well, that was much more intolerable than his wounded pride.
When he realized he could get between two hundred and four hundred dollars a month in food vouchers, he called himself an idiot for sticking up his nose at such a program. He decided to apply, but he’d be filing out the paperwork himself. No way would he willingly let Little Miss Fancy Shoes know he was that tight on money.
By midnight he had all the forms filled out and was ready to pass out. He heated up a bottle and quietly lifted Logan out of his crib. This was part of the building a routine thing Dr. Haughenschlaugger suggested.
He barely woke up, but drank at least four ounces. Shane softly worked a burp out of him and laid him back in his Autobot crib then fell into bed. He was completely wiped out, the past few days seemingly catching up to him all at once. How would he ever manage all this and working at the same time?
On Friday, Shane and Logan borrowed the roller skate again and went to visit daycares. “One day we’ll be looking at colleges for you too, if you’re anything like your mother,” he informed a gurgling Logan. “She was real smart.”
They first visited one place that was okay. It was pricy. Really pricy. For the cost, Shane wasn’t very impressed. However, as they worked their way through the list he became more and more discouraged. They returned to the first place, Kiddie Academy, and requested the enrollment paperwork. Logan would start there on Monday.
“Now, make sure you don’t let the kids who’ve been there longer push you around. You don’t take any lip from anybody. And I don’t want to hear about you being distracted from your studies by any pretty girls, you hear?”
Logan farted…possibly more than a fart.
Shane scrunched up his face as he pulled into Sunny Acres. “You keep that up and you won’t have any problems keeping the bullies and the girls away.”
The following Friday night the guys came over as usual, but Tucker was coughing and Shane asked him to leave.
“You’re kicking me out?” Tucker asked, shocked.
“You’re coughing. I don’t want Logan getting sick.”
“But I’m not sick,” Tucker argued.
Sims chimed in from the floor where he was playing the game station. “Lisa was sick. You had your tongue in her mouth. You’re probably a carrier of whatever funk she had.”
Duce held his cheesesteak mid-air and froze, hypochondriac at full alert. “You better go.”
“Shut up, Duce.”
Shane stood his ground. “Seriously, Tucker, Logan can’t get sick. Dr. Haughenschlaugger said—”
“Wait,” he laughed. “Doctor who? Hasphenpepper?”
“Haughenschlaugger.” They all cracked up, but Shane was being serious. “I’m serious. You need to go.”
The mood chilled. Tucker was insulted. “Whatever, dude. You act like I have the plague.” He grabbed his keys and left.
“He’s pissed,” Duce commented, spraying crumbs over the table.
“Use a napkin,” Shane snapped. “I just vacuumed.”
Sims kept his eye on the television, but didn’t miss a beat. “Uh, Shane, how long do you plan on being on the rag? Because you’re sort of a buzz kill like this.”
Shane stiffened. “You can leave too. I’m sorry if I don’t feel like dealing with a bunch of bullshit tonight like I have every Friday night for the past decade.”
Sims paused the game and stared at him. “Are you serious right now?”
Defensively, he glared back. “What? I can’t have boundaries? You guys come over here every week, trash the place, use my game station, drink my beer—”
“We come here because you invite us!” Sims snapped.
“Well, I need to consider Logan now.”
“You sound like a woman.”
“ You sound like a woman all the time. Get over it.”
Logan’s
When he realized he could get between two hundred and four hundred dollars a month in food vouchers, he called himself an idiot for sticking up his nose at such a program. He decided to apply, but he’d be filing out the paperwork himself. No way would he willingly let Little Miss Fancy Shoes know he was that tight on money.
By midnight he had all the forms filled out and was ready to pass out. He heated up a bottle and quietly lifted Logan out of his crib. This was part of the building a routine thing Dr. Haughenschlaugger suggested.
He barely woke up, but drank at least four ounces. Shane softly worked a burp out of him and laid him back in his Autobot crib then fell into bed. He was completely wiped out, the past few days seemingly catching up to him all at once. How would he ever manage all this and working at the same time?
On Friday, Shane and Logan borrowed the roller skate again and went to visit daycares. “One day we’ll be looking at colleges for you too, if you’re anything like your mother,” he informed a gurgling Logan. “She was real smart.”
They first visited one place that was okay. It was pricy. Really pricy. For the cost, Shane wasn’t very impressed. However, as they worked their way through the list he became more and more discouraged. They returned to the first place, Kiddie Academy, and requested the enrollment paperwork. Logan would start there on Monday.
“Now, make sure you don’t let the kids who’ve been there longer push you around. You don’t take any lip from anybody. And I don’t want to hear about you being distracted from your studies by any pretty girls, you hear?”
Logan farted…possibly more than a fart.
Shane scrunched up his face as he pulled into Sunny Acres. “You keep that up and you won’t have any problems keeping the bullies and the girls away.”
The following Friday night the guys came over as usual, but Tucker was coughing and Shane asked him to leave.
“You’re kicking me out?” Tucker asked, shocked.
“You’re coughing. I don’t want Logan getting sick.”
“But I’m not sick,” Tucker argued.
Sims chimed in from the floor where he was playing the game station. “Lisa was sick. You had your tongue in her mouth. You’re probably a carrier of whatever funk she had.”
Duce held his cheesesteak mid-air and froze, hypochondriac at full alert. “You better go.”
“Shut up, Duce.”
Shane stood his ground. “Seriously, Tucker, Logan can’t get sick. Dr. Haughenschlaugger said—”
“Wait,” he laughed. “Doctor who? Hasphenpepper?”
“Haughenschlaugger.” They all cracked up, but Shane was being serious. “I’m serious. You need to go.”
The mood chilled. Tucker was insulted. “Whatever, dude. You act like I have the plague.” He grabbed his keys and left.
“He’s pissed,” Duce commented, spraying crumbs over the table.
“Use a napkin,” Shane snapped. “I just vacuumed.”
Sims kept his eye on the television, but didn’t miss a beat. “Uh, Shane, how long do you plan on being on the rag? Because you’re sort of a buzz kill like this.”
Shane stiffened. “You can leave too. I’m sorry if I don’t feel like dealing with a bunch of bullshit tonight like I have every Friday night for the past decade.”
Sims paused the game and stared at him. “Are you serious right now?”
Defensively, he glared back. “What? I can’t have boundaries? You guys come over here every week, trash the place, use my game station, drink my beer—”
“We come here because you invite us!” Sims snapped.
“Well, I need to consider Logan now.”
“You sound like a woman.”
“ You sound like a woman all the time. Get over it.”
Logan’s
Similar Books
