That is of course, until - oh, approximately August 1, when the full-court press began.
My son: "Mom. I want a Mac."
My son: "It's in my budget. Here, take a look at this one. It's got all the specs I'm looking for . . ."
And so it went. Incessantly.
Finally, we took a trip to the store.
Glitches were had. We returned home empty-handed, but only for the space of about 24 hours. That's when Dad kicked it, with his mischevious ways.
Rising early, we high-tailed it to the preceeding evening's destination and revisited the clerk who promised the goods. We then returned home, to [torment] the lad.
Here is a pictoral essay on the event, as it played out at our house. Will our lives ever be the same again? Are we all destined for the same fate?