Walker the Talker

I leave for work when Walker is still tightly tucked under the covers. No glasses. No motor skills. No brain function. Every morning I give him a kiss on the forehead and bid him adieu. He always manages to muster some sort of response (luuhh….groan…yu). This morning was no different.

Me: Love you. Bye.

Walker:  Love you, too.

Walker: April fools.

Either he really doesn’t love me, or he thinks in jokes even while he’s asleep.

Considering this was our ‘prank’ for the day, I’m feeling old.

what are you looking at

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