What I want to know is why I don’t get my own bunkhouse too. I love Hotshot to death, but come on… how come he gets the soft bed every night, when I’m still out here in the boonies, listening to Austin snore, fighting Con to get the good blanket before we sack out, and putting up with Pete’s late-night munchie madness. It’s just not fair! I don’t have a streak of gray hair just to show it off you know – doesn’t age have any bearings?
Okay… so that bogus streak of gray has nothing to do with age. I’ve had it since I was sixteen after that lovely surgery. But that’s beside the point, right?
What was the point again? I don’t know. It’s time for bed.
