Here’s a story with a moral. (Not really)

Last night, Chrissy inexplicably decided to toss a milk bone at my head. It bounced off my cranium and landed in the space between the sofa and love seat where we keep some sort of cart with fancy bottles on it. We told the dog to just go get the bone, but she resisted.

Chrissy deduces that the Dog won’t go over there “because the last time she did, your fucking knick knack table fell on her.”

It’s actually a snack table. One of those nice wooden folding tables I use to rest the laptop on occasionally while creating this mind numbing drivel.

If I had a knick knack table though, I’d probably spend so much time setting up the table to display my knick knacks, a conversation between my wife and daughter might someday sound something like this….

Junior Miss Giddy – Where’s Dad?

Chrissy – He’s in the den arranging his knick knacks.

Junior Miss Giddy – Knick knacks? Does he have a knick knack table?

Chrissy – He’s got a knick knack table.

Junior Miss Giddy – Sweet.

Junior Miss Giddy – Are his knick knacks whimsical?

Chrissy – They’re very whimsical knick knacks.

Junior Miss Giddy – Neat!

Chrissy – Wack knick knacks!

So the moral of this story is of course…

With a knick knack paddy wack, give the dog a bone.

This bonehead collects plastic gnomes.