Mom and Bill treated us to a night out at IHOP. (Thanks again, guys!) We were just finishing up when Henry reached over to grab his glass of water to take one last swig before we took off. I guess his fingers were all slippery from the sausage and bacon he devoured, sans fork, because the glass slipped right out of his hands, caught the edge of his plate, and shattered into about a million pieces.
Nobody really got hurt. Henry got an almost microscopic cut on his foot. He was more embarrassed than anything. On the way home, I was sitting in the back with Henry and, trying to cheer him up a bit, told him, "You know, Henry, they have IHOPs in Michigan." (p.s.-Henry's favorite place to eat in the world is IHOP and we're moving to the great state of MI after Maren's Fontan operation. Henry's excited about the move because Randy and I have been telling him how awesome MI is, even though I've never been there and Randy has spent a whopping 2 weeks of his 35 years.)
Henry's somber reply: "I hope they have plastic cups."
Me too, Henry. Me too.
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