Three days ago, my dad let me know that when I was Ms. Lis's age, he let me gnaw on dog biscuits.
"It's fine! It's kind of food! You were just mushing it up anyways! It was good to teethe on!"
For three days, I've been trying to figure out how to tell you, dear readers, that you've been reading the blog of someone who regularly chewed on dog biscuits. For giggles, you know. It was great. I'm assured I had a lovely time.
There, I said it. You can flee. Begin the mass exodus.