Day Seven.

Bad news. Today, Zach bought shin guards.

Yeah, I know, ostensibly it’s for “soccer” (he’s American, so he says “soccer.” It’s really annoying, and yet another reason to plunge my thirsty leg into his waiting, engorged, blood-rich shinbone), but I think we all know what’s going on. I’ve got him running scared here. Finally, I think the tide is turning. I may yet kick Zach in the shins before the year is out. But first, I must remove his shin guards.

That is where the crane with the giant magnet attached to it comes in. I rented one from a local construction company; the boss owes my uncle a favour. Anyway, so what I’m going to do is like wait for him to be walking down the street with his shin guards on, and then I’m going to like turn on the giant magnet and it’s going to go whumm-umm-umm-umm and pick him up because he’s got loads of change in his pockets, and he’s gonna get picked up and like stuck to the magnet and he’ll be all like helphelpi’mstucktoagiantcranemagnet and I’ll be all haha then I’ll run up and take his shin guards and run away, except he won’t know that it’s me, because I’ll have on the Green Power Ranger mask (Tommy) I got for my last birthday

And then tomorrow I will kick Zach in the shins. For he will no longer be protected in that area. After all, “the giant crane’s the thing / wherein to catch the shin guards of the king.”

Listening to: Hilary Duff - Shine